


Brackish

by Transom



Category: The Clash
Genre: Accidental Outing, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angst, Asexual Character, Coming Out, Drinking, Joe is a hippie, Kissing, Mick is glam, Minor Violence, Non-binary character, Other, Past attempted sexual assault, Slow Dancing, Speciesism, Topper is trans everybody, Trans Male Character, accidental misgendering, also lots of pot smoking, and Joe is consistently an idiot, background Topper/Paul, fluff and sappiness abounds, panromantic character, relationship doubts, there's a lot of softness to balance all this out though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transom/pseuds/Transom
Summary: Joe meets merperson!Mick at the beach one day.
Relationships: Mick Jones/Joe Strummer
Comments: 19
Kudos: 13





	1. High and Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags for potential triggers. Some are relevant to later chapters. I will let you know in the notes when a major one is coming up.

Joe trudged through the loose sand, wondering why he was bothering with the beach at all. He had been in need of a head-clearing walk, and he had always heard of people taking relaxing strolls by the seashore. Only, he must have been doing it wrong. So far, all he had managed to get for his troubles was tired legs from wading through the sand - most of which, it seemed, was ending up in his shoes - and the beginnings of a headache from the incessant screeching of the gulls circling overhead. 

On top of all that, it was a cold, blustery mid-autumn morning, the air damp with chilly drizzle; not exactly an ideal environment for sun worshippers, or small children with pails and shovels, or teenagers with illicit substances. Broken bottles and cigarettes, washed-up plastic bags and food wrappers were the only evidence of human life for miles around. Joe wrapped his arms around himself as he continued to stumble on. He felt terribly small and alone, and was berating himself for thinking he could find anything here. With a huff, he gave up and started to trudge back to firmer footing, but that was when he heard the unmistakably soft, musical voice of a merperson calling out to him. 

“Oi! You, over there!” 

Joe looked up. About fifty feet down the beach, where it narrowed as it approached the cliffs, there were occasional large fallen rocks strewn about, some the size of cars, most splattered with gull droppings and ringed with slime. On one that was near the edge of the water lounged a merperson, their tail flapping idly in the surf. Even from a distance, they glittered dimly, with their dark hair and pale skin and purple scales, looking like a jewel against a dreary grey backdrop. Tentatively excited to meet them, Joe pointed to his own chest. He gave the merperson an unsure look, knowing their sort didn’t often call out to landpeople so brazenly. 

“Yeah, you! Over _here_.” 

Joe snorted. Alright then. He picked up his pace, still eager to meet them. Even if they did seem rather pushy. 

“Quit growin' algae on your feet and get _over_ here.” 

That last barrage of petulance was nearly enough to make Joe change his mind, but he soon reached the rocks anyway. He had to clamber over several smaller ones to get to the merperson, hoping they didn't notice how much he was huffing with the effort. 

“’Bout time,” the merperson said, though they were smirking just enough to let Joe know they were only taking the piss. 

“Sorry.” Joe was just glad to be able to take a seat on a nearby smaller rock, trying to ignore how cold and slimy it was. “What did you need me for so badly anyway?” 

The merperson rolled onto their belly, looking dejected and longing. “I am absolutely _dying_ for a smoke," they moaned. 

Joe laughed at the melodrama of it. He dug in his pocket, seeing the merperson’s eyebrows go up with interest. "I’ve got just the ticket.” 

Joe hastily set about rolling a joint from what was left of his supply. He had been planning on smoking it by himself, in perhaps a more secluded part of the beach, but he reasoned that one rarely had the chance to share such things with visiting merpeople. 

“Mind, you'll owe me some absolutely top- _notch_ sea-stuff now,” Joe warned the merperson, giving an instinctual furtive look around before offering them his handiwork. 

“Ta.” The merperson’s smile was genuine, and they were even blushing lightly as they took their first hit. As they coughed it down and let it out, their eyes rolled back in their head, and they groaned, low and grateful, before passing the joint back to Joe. “You have no _idea_.” 

As Joe took a pull of his own, he watched, grinning, as the merperson relaxed against the rock, stretching out on their back, one hand behind their head, their tail flapping contentedly now. The minutes of peaceful back-and-forth smoking that followed allowed Joe the chance to study his new companion, fascinated by their cavalier attitude as well as their appearance, unique even for a merperson. 

They appeared to be a rather young merperson, perhaps only a few years younger than Joe. They had warm brown eyes and thick, dark brown hair that hung in soft waves all the way down to their waist. From their waist up, they were quite pale, their skin almost translucent, but the scales of their tail and around the gills on their neck were a shiny, dark purple, nearly black, fading into a lighter mauve on the underside of their tail. They were quite thin, and if they were a human, they would have been fairly tall, or at least taller than Joe’s shorter-than-average. Their upper body was dusted with sparse dark hair, in thicker patches over their breastbone and below their navel. Though they appeared to be male, they wore a seashell bra in the fashion of a mermaid, shiny and purple to match their scales. Also like a mermaid, they wore handmade-looking hemp-and-bead bangles that snaked their way up their wrists and forearms, while still more beads glinted throughout their hair and around their neck. 

“I’ve never seen a merman like you before,” Joe mused after taking another pull. “What’s your name, anyway?” 

They seemed to tense slightly, their tail stilling. “It’s Mick. But I ain’t a mer _man_.” 

“Sorry. Mer _maid_ , then?” Joe knew about situations, with humans, where gender and body didn’t exactly line up. He wondered if merpeople were more accepting of that sort of thing than landpeople. 

But Mick the mer… person shook their head again. “Ain’t a mer _maid_ either. I’m just… merfolk. Just me, really.” 

“Oh.” Joe paused, taking another drag. That was something he had never heard of, and he wondered if it was solely a mer-thing, or if, more likely, landpeople were lagging behind the times again. 

Mick took the opportunity to add, “But I didn’t come up here to explain my gender, human. Like your tiny land-brain would even understand the concept of not being a man _or_ a maid.” 

“It’s Joe,” he said, able to ignore the jab at his brain post-puff. 

Mick started, but recovered quickly to narrow their eyes at him. Clearly, weed had less of a relaxing effect on merpeople, or at least this particular merperson. “Did I ask?” 

“Just thought you’d like to know the name of your supplier.” Joe shrugged. “What’s with the attitude, by the way? Stuff wear off already? Got sand in your... whatever it is that merpeople have down there?” 

He waved his hand in the general direction of Mick’s tail, receiving an annoyed slap of it against the water in response. Even without that, though, the flush on Mick’s cheeks was enough to let Joe know he had gotten under their scales. 

“Sorry,” Joe offered, afraid Mick would shove off into the ocean, never to be seen again. Not that he would blame them. “I get it, landpeople are arseholes. But I swear, I’m one of the good ones. I’ve protested against the legislation to use your land, er… water… for drilling and whatnot.” 

The irritated twitching of Mick’s tail seemed to settle as they chewed it over. “Well, thank you for that. I’m sorry, too. But you’ve got to understand, all I ever do when I come up to the surface is get question after question. What do you people eat? How do you talk to each other underwater? How do you use the toilet? What’s your bloody _sex_ life like? It gets old, alright? Especially when there are piles of books down the library. Why don’t you read up on some of it and leave me alone. All I come up here for is a bit of a smoke and a bit of….” 

They seemed to catch themself, face going pink. Joe narrowed his eyes, deeply curious. “A bit of what?” 

Mick sighed. They flopped onto their belly, dragging themself to the end of the rock. There, they reached their hand into a hidden cranny and pulled out what looked like a child’s toy harmonica, made of pink plastic faded by the sun. 

“I found this washed up here one day. There are a lot of instruments you can’t play underwater, you know. So I come up here to score weed, yeah, but also to do this....” 

They dunked it in the water to rinse off the dirt and sand, then blew out a simple tune, bluesy yet bright. Joe’s breath caught, but after only a few bars, Mick grew self-conscious and stopped, leaving Joe grinning like a fool, unable to contain his excitement. 

“That’s amazing. You’re quite good. What is it you do, come up here and play for the seagulls?” 

Mick smiled, looking shy for the first time, a look that quickly endeared Joe even further to them. “Mostly. I like coming up. I like meeting people, no matter how much I whinge about their questions. Landpeople are more social than merpeople. You all live in cities, in towns, in big houses together. We’re all solitary, except for certain ceremonies, and mating, of course. And I… well, I don’t really go in for that sort of thing, anyway.” 

Joe was taken aback. “What, the mating thing? You’re not into that?” 

Mick shook their head. “If I never have to do it, I’ll be happy. But I’ll probably _have_ to do it, just to be with someone I love, because they’ll expect it. I _do_ want to find someone, I do feel other kinds of love, just not… that.” 

Joe’s heart ached for them, but he knew that what they were saying was mostly rubbish. “If someone really loved you, they wouldn’t make you do anything,” he reasoned. “They would accept whatever you could give them.” 

Mick chewed their lip, unsure, but their eyes shone with a tiny glimmer of hope. “You really think so? I dunno….” 

“Think about it this way. If _you_ were into the mating stuff, but the person… er, _merperson_ you loved wasn’t… would _you_ make them do things they didn’t want to do?” 

Mick scrunched their face up, disgusted. “’Course not.” 

“See. There you go.” 

Joe was proud of himself for running logical rings around his new friend, but Mick didn’t look so convinced. 

“It’s easier said than done, I s'pose,” they sighed. 

Joe had to agree with that, and he went silent as the two of them simply sat for a spell, taking in the sounds and smells of the beach in quiet companionship. Joe was stunned at the way everything seemed so new and more agreeable than before. The pounding surf and the blustery breezes felt less like a cruel reminder of remoteness and more like the simple rhythms of nature, and even the calling of the gulls had taken on the lilt of birdsong. It came as a pleasant surprise that he could be so lifted by meeting someone new, someone he knew he would get on with right away. And he knew he wasn't alone in feeling that way, because, though they had only just met, Mick clearly felt comfortable enough with him, a landperson and all, to open up to him about their quite personal experiences and worries. 

His day having taken this unexpected turn, Joe opened his mouth to begin a new, perhaps more casual line of conversation with Mick, eager to get to know them better. Quickly, though, he shut it again after seeing how they now seemed to be rather restless, their tail twitching and their gills flaring more than usual. 

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, watching their entire body seem to revolt against them. 

“I’m getting too dry,” they said, voice a little raspy, and tinged with sadness. “I really don’t want to go back in, though.” 

“Do you have to stay in for long, like to recover?” 

Mick nodded sadly, heaving themself slowly back into the water. “Probably for the rest of the day, at least.” 

Joe chewed his lip. “I’d like to see you again,” he admitted, feeling a little giddy inside as it all started rushing out, in a hurry. He felt like he was losing his chance, Mick about to disappear back into the sea. “We can play music together. I have a ukulele. And I can probably get you a better harmonica, a real one. Only, you probably couldn’t leave it here, or it’d rust, but you could leave it with me, I could keep it for you at my place.” 

Mick smiled as they slid the rest of the way into the water, bobbing up and down gently with the waves. They swam out to where only their head was visible, and Joe suddenly wished it was summer and the water was warmer and he could follow them in. 

“I’d really like that, Joe,” they assured him sincerely. “Please, come back tomorrow, around the same time? You can ask me some questions, if you want. I’ll try not to get my fins in such a twist.” 

Joe grinned, already feeling himself bubble up with excitement for the next time he would see Mick. “I won’t bother you with any of that. I’ll do some reading. Goodbye, Mick!” 

The waves were slowly carrying them off, Mick unwilling to fight them. But even as they drifted away, they yelled out to Joe, “Don’t read anything by that knob Godfrey Marsh! He’s been in the papers saying keep England for the two-legged!” 

“Fuck him, then!” Joe yelled back. He noticed that the wind had picked up around him, beginning to slice through his meager jacket. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, refusing to leave even when Mick had disappeared, part of him hoping they might come back, so the two of them could spend some more time together. 

He was also too busy racking his brain, his feet rooted to the sand as he wondered how on Earth Mick was getting the _papers_.


	2. Sea Shanties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Mick make some music together and get to know each other a little better.

Joe was glad Mick had told him to read up on merpeople. There was no way he could have slept that night anyway, so excited was he to see them again so soon. So instead, he spent all night learning about mer-culture; their clothes, their music, their struggle for rights. It was well past midnight when his head threatened to hit his desk, and he reluctantly shut the book and switch off the lamp, going to bed with thoughts of his new friend swimming through his head. 

He had never flown out of bed faster than when his alarm clock sounded the next morning. He was back on the beach in practically minutes, with his ukulele in his hand and a pocketful of fresh grass. His legs were itching to run, leaving a light bounce in every one of his slogging steps through the wet sand. 

When he at last reached the rock where he and Mick had met the day before, though, they were nowhere to be seen. Joe scanned up and down the beach, turning this way and that, his eyes straining for a sign. There was nothing, apart from a few piles of washed-up seaweed, and the omnipresent gulls whirling overhead, taunting him with their piercing cries. The big, flat rock was unoccupied, and the breeze, that had been playing with his hair since he shut his front door, suddenly felt more like wind, cold and mean. 

Dejected, Joe plopped down on a nearby rock, his ukulele in his lap. He rested his chin in his hands and huffed, staring out at the gently rolling waves with a frown. Had he misheard Mick? Had something bad happened to them? Had they simply forgotten, or did they just not care as much as Joe did? Joe reexamined their entire interaction, wondering if he had fabricated the instant connection the two of them seemed to have had, perhaps nothing more than his own naïve hope. 

A few half-heartedly strummed bars on his ukulele later, Joe heard a small splash nearby. He lifted his head so quickly that he nearly fell off his rock and into a tidepool, but the soaking would have been worth it to see the familiar head of dark hair rise from the waves, to see Mick wearing a sheepish grin as they struggled onto the beach. 

Joe left his ukulele behind and quickly went to their side, helping them haul themself onto the rock, away from the waves that threatened to drag them back out to sea. As they settled into a comfortable position, Joe was surprised to feel how warm their skin was under his hands, having figured it to be cold and clammy. He wondered if it was down to how much Mick was flushing, presumably due to their discomfort with being handled and subsequently stared at. Joe averted his eyes, trying to forget the way the light pink of their blush had gone all the way down to their chest, a lovely complement to the purple of their seashell top. 

“I’m happy you showed,” they said softly, easing Joe’s earlier worries about them forgetting him or encountering some sort of misfortune. “I was afraid you would decide against it.” 

Joe felt compelled to lay a comforting hand on Mick’s arm, but pulled back, not wanting to make them more uncomfortable than they already seemed. “I wondered the same,” he admitted. “You worried me, honestly. I thought a shark had got hold of you.” 

He smiled wryly to go with his teasing tone, and Mick returned it, ducking their head. “Sorry. Did you get started without me?” 

They tilted their head toward the ukulele lying on its rock nearby. Joe went to retrieve it, and fished Mick’s toy harmonica out of its hiding spot as well, wiping it off for them on his jacket. Mick smiled gratefully and blew a few notes, just warming up while Joe double-checked his tuning. 

“You know any rhythm and blues? Or rock and roll?” he asked Mick, lighting up when he saw their lips twitch around the harmonica. 

“How ‘bout ‘Got Love If You Want It'?” 

They ran through that one a couple of times, Joe forgetting the words completely, but smiling too much to care. Even Mick missed a few notes when Joe began purposefully adlibbing lines here or there, doing it just to make them grin, the sight of which was so nice that it only made him want to corpse even more. That was how “Johnny B. Goode” and “Orange Blossom Special” and “Blue Bayou” went as well, and by the last few notes of Joe’s voice cracking all over “Wang Dang Doodle", they were both giggling too much to continue. The silly plastic harmonica paired with Joe’s ham-fisted ukulele playing sounded ridiculous at best anyway, and part of Joe was glad the weather was terrible and the beach was once again deserted. 

“I think we managed to frighten off even the _gulls_ ,” he remarked, looking up at the sky, empty of the irritating birds for once. The sun was just beginning to peak out from cracks in the thick, light grey clouds, and Joe looked back at Mick, expecting to see them grinning in return. 

To his concern, though, Mick was frowning, looking sidelong at Joe. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay out much longer,” they admitted. 

Joe’s heart sank, but he set aside his ukulele and tried to look positive for Mick. “We’ve made the best of it, though, don’t you think? I mean, you got to hear me run off all the crabs and spiders with my crummy voice, yeah?” 

“I like your voice,” Mick said quietly, looking down so that some of their hair obscured their face. “I wish I could stay all day.” 

“Me too.” It should have sounded like too much, but to Joe, it was somehow just right. He was thrilled Mick felt the same way and wasn’t afraid to say it either. He swayed to the side to touch his shoulder briefly to theirs, adding, “You know, I stayed up all night studying so I won’t sound like a pillock anymore when I talk to you.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” Joe felt his face heat up, but he wasn’t deterred from saying what he felt. “I think I’d like to see you more, to do this, or to just talk, that is... if you’d like to as well?” 

“I would,” Mick said. “Will you come back tomorrow?” 

“’Course! A little later, though, yeah?” 

Mick went pink again, remembering their tardiness, but they nodded, and Joe’s heart lifted happily. He reached for his ukulele, strumming out a lively intro to “She Loves You”. 

“One more song?” 

“Of course, Joe. One more.” 

*** 

The next day dawned bright and sunny. Joe frowned at the cheery-looking sky as he stepped out of his building and onto the pavement. He hoped for the clouds to return, but he was grateful that at least it was still blustery and cool, both to deter nosy visitors to the beach and to prevent Mick drying out too quickly. 

Starting off, Joe did encounter a few beachgoers, but they thinned out as he ventured further away from the most popular stretch of the beach and approached his and Mick’s meeting spot. Soon, he was all alone again, among the gulls and the waves, looking out for dark hair, pale skin, and glittering purple scales. 

This time, though, he heard Mick before he saw them. Or, rather, he heard a high, clear singing voice that could only have belonged to Mick, calling out across the beach. 

“ _Every little bit hurts…._ ” 

Joe paused, wondering if he should announce himself, or if that would cause Mick to stop. He shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand to see them perched on a rock that was further down the beach, more isolated than their usual spot. They were curled up small, arms around their tail, singing out to the sea as they watched wave after wave roll onto the shore. 

“ _Every night I cry, every night I sigh, every night I wonder why… you treat me cold…._ ” 

Carefully, Joe sidestepped behind a large rock, crouching to remain hidden. He wondered if the polite thing to do would be to leave, but Mick’s voice kept him rooted to the sand. The hurt in it was so clear, yet there was something else, something that made Joe stay, that he couldn’t quite understand. 

“ _Come back to me,_

__

__

_Darling you’ll see_

_I can give all the things_

_that you wanted before,_

_If you will stay…_ ” 

Joe grimaced and held his fist to his chest, stunned by the emotion in Mick’s voice. They sounded very nearly broken, but there was an undercurrent of strength still, defiant and willful. Joe knew, as he listened, that he had to come out and show himself to Mick, not hide behind a rock like a coward while they poured their heart out with so much courage. 

Slowly, Joe stepped forward. He cleared his throat, so as not to startle Mick as he neared. Their eyes met Joe’s, their body relaxing somewhat as they saw how respectfully Joe was approaching them. They turned to him, budging up to give him a spot on the rock. 

“I don’t know that one,” Joe said, sitting down next to them. “Can you teach me?” 

Mick nodded, smiling sadly. “It’s one of my favorites.” 

Joe knew it was more than just a song for them. It was a story, a deeply personal one, and though Joe desperately wanted to know who had hurt Mick that way – mostly so he could punch the bastard up the bracket – he held back, not wanting to pick at old wounds. Instead, he chose to focus purely on the musical qualities. Even with that, though, he couldn’t be sure whether or not he was pushing too far. 

“Your voice.... It’s really lovely,” Joe told them, looking down to hide his blush as he strummed haltingly through the song for the first time, Mick leading him on the harmonica. 

“You think so?” 

Their voice was light, and Joe was happy to hear them sound a little brighter. “Yeah, I do. I’d like to hear you sing more often, actually. If you want.” 

“I can.” Mick smiled, lopsided. “Maybe something a bit more cheery, though, eh?” 

Joe shrugged. “You know any Beach Boys?” 

Mick looked deeply offended. “What sort of merperson do you think I am?” 

Joe laughed, launching into “Help Me, Rhonda”. “Let’s see if you know this one, then, yeah?” 

Mick did, of course, and Joe beamed all throughout their clumsy rendition. Mick’s voice somehow went straight to his fingers, made his playing soar, and in turn, Mick seemed to be lifted higher, too. It might not have been the Beach Boys, but it was something all their own, something real and meaningful and a little wild. Joe couldn’t believe he had found it where he did, but now that he had, he knew he couldn’t give it up. Mick would have to leave him for the waves again soon, but for now, everywhere water met sand was where music could be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack for this chapter:
> 
> "Got Love if You Want It" - Slim Harpo  
> "Johnny B. Goode" - Chuck Berry  
> "Orange Blossom Special" - Johnny Cash  
> "Blue Bayou" - Roy Orbison  
> "Wang Dang Doodle" - Koko Taylor  
> "She Loves You" - The Beatles  
> "Every Little Bit Hurts" - The Spencer Davis Group (or the original Brenda Holloway version)  
> "Help Me, Rhonda" - The Beach Boys


	3. Surface Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe devises a way to spend the day with Mick on land. It's no simple trip, though; there are confessions, misunderstandings, dangerous encounters, and first meetings. Mick and Joe's relationship will never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention:
> 
> The violence, past attempted sexual assault and misgendering tags are relevant for this chapter. Please proceed with caution.

Every chance he could get, Joe met Mick on the beach. They would play together, and sometimes they would sing together, and when they didn’t feel like doing either of those things, they simply sat and smoked together. And every day, when Mick returned to the sea, Joe was left longing to take his new friend back to the city with him, desperate to share with them more of his life than just the beach, the waves, and the songs. 

If only they could take a simple walk together, Joe would be happy. And it wasn’t like merpeople never ventured inland; he had seen them here and there, usually on official business. They could be seen going about in special wheelchairs, the ones with sacks full of water that they could keep their tails in. Joe had no idea where to acquire such a device, and reckoned that they were probably outrageously expensive anyway. 

But the idea itself was intriguing, especially if it meant Mick could come ashore with him. So, after a few days of strategic nicking and subsequent tinkering, Joe came up with a do-it-yourself solution. Wanting to surprise Mick, he went down the beach one morning to visit them with it in tow, grinning as they watched him approach with shrewdly narrowed eyes. 

“What have you got there?” they asked from their perch on their rock, their tail flapping idly. 

“An idea,” Joe replied, stepping aside to give them a full look at the small, four-wheeled handcart he was pulling behind him. “I borrowed it from work,” he explained proudly. “Borrowed some sealant, too. So now all we need to do is fill it with water and throw you in.” 

Joe held up a bucket – another “borrowed” item – and waited nervously for Mick’s response, his heart beginning to hammer. He had fully prepared himself for Mick to say no, to call him an idiot and give him one of their patented glares. Still, the idea of that actually happening made his stomach twist and his palms sweat. 

Luckily, Mick appeared more bemused than anything. Their lips twitched slightly, and they scooted to the edge of the rock to get a better look. 

“You really want to drag me round in _that_?” 

Joe shrugged, blushing lightly. “I’d like to try.” 

Mick frowned as they straightened again. “You'll have to help me into it, you know.” 

“Yeah, no problem. Here, let me get it closer.” He dragged the cart over so it was flush with the rock, the sides just coming up to where Mick was sitting. 

“Before I attempt this,” Mick interjected with a raised hand, “I want to say, for the record, that I'm actually quite graceful underwater. I swear.” 

“I know you are,” Joe said kindly. He had already imagined what Mick looked like underwater more times than he would care to admit. Shaking the image from his mind so he could concentrate, he held his hands out to them as they shuffled awkwardly towards the cart, wanting permission before touching their tail. “Can I?” 

“Please.” 

Rather hesitantly, Joe took hold of Mick’s tail, hooking his arms under the spot where it bent at a joint, almost like knees. As he lifted, he was immediately taken aback by how heavy Mick was, how strong their tail felt in his arms. He could also appreciate the way it felt under his skin, wrapped in scales that were smooth and slippery, much like a fish. However, even as impressed as he was by this particular part of them, Joe was still glad when Mick was able to carefully lower themself to a sitting position in the cart, and he no longer had to strain to support them. 

“Comfortable?” he asked, a touch breathless, his hand remaining on their tail. 

Mick nodded. Their face was pink, probably from the exertion as well, Joe reckoned. “Reasonably, anyway.” 

Joe pulled his hand away. “Good. I’m going to move you closer to the grass first. Then I’ll get you watered, yeah?” 

Mick agreed, and Joe started off hauling them through the deep sand while the cart was still relatively light. Even without the water in, though, it was no easy task. After a few exhausting minutes, full of Joe chastising himself for not picking up a set of dumbbells at least once in his life, he made it to the firmer ground at the edge of the beach. He didn’t allow himself any time to rest, though, immediately taking the bucket and trudging back through the sand to scoop up some seawater. He brought it back to Mick, who watched the entire process with concerned interest. 

“Seems like an awful lot of work,” they remarked, as Joe went tiredly to his knees beside the cart. 

“It’ll be worth it,” he assured them, bringing the bucket up to begin pouring, grateful all the same when Mick helped him to lift it and hold it steady. 

“Here, pour it out over me,” they said, guiding him. “I’m a little dried out already, actually.” 

Gently, Joe sluiced the water from Mick’s middle to the end of their fins, letting it pour out slowly so their scales could soak it up. Without thinking, he reached out a hand and stroked near the top of their tail to help rub it in, then caught himself, blushing sheepishly as he pulled away. 

“Sorry.” 

“No, it feels good.” Now, Mick was just as red as Joe felt. “The water, I mean,” they added softly. 

“Is it… okay for me to touch you? It doesn’t hurt you, does it?” 

Mick shook their head. “As long as I’m not too dry, it’s alright.” They bent forward and pointed to the faint, raised line that ran down the side of their tail. “You know what that is?” 

Joe nodded. It was something he had read about, that merpeople could sense electric currents in the water, like fish. “That’s your lateral line, right?” 

“Right. Try to avoid that. It’s not that it will hurt me if you touch it, it’s just…” They trailed off, flush deepening. “I’m a bit ticklish there.” Quickly realizing their mistake, they groaned, leaning back in the cart and covering their face with their hands. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.” 

Joe grinned, but he kept his hand firmly on the safe part of Mick’s tail. “I won’t take advantage. But, it _is_ very good to know.” 

“Shut up and fetch more water,” Mick ordered, but there was mirth in their eyes as they shooed him away. 

Joe obeyed, making several more trips to fill the cart as high as he reasonably could, knowing that most of it would probably slosh out anyway. He had also brought Mick a sponge to use on their gills or wherever else they needed rehydrating, so even if he couldn’t get the water to completely cover their lower body, they could still keep sufficiently wet. 

Mick seemed grateful, but now they were beginning to grow playfully suspicious. “Where are you planning on taking me, anyway?” 

“Anywhere you want,” Joe said with easy bravado. He promptly stood up and hauled on the cart’s handle, face heating when it hardly budged. With much effort, he finally got it rolling through the grass, but by then Mick was giggling, as he strained and groaned to move it even a few feet. 

“Not very far, though, huh?” they quipped, picking up a nearby stick of driftwood to help Joe along. “Maybe by nightfall we could visit that carpark over there?” 

“Very… funny,” Joe gritted out, heaving to pull the cart over a slight bump. “Actually,” he said as soon as he was rolling along reasonably well again, “I was planning to take you for something to eat. And then, maybe do a bit of shopping?” 

Mick didn’t respond right away, and Joe sensed that he should stop, glad for the opportunity to rest awhile, but worried for Mick. When he looked back at them, they were nervously clutching at their driftwood, and twisting a lock of hair between their fingers. 

“Bad idea?” Joe ventured. 

“No,” Mick said quickly. “It sounds lovely, it’s just…. Well, for starters, I don’t have much money….” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Joe said confidently. “I’ve been saving.” 

Mick looked touched, but unconvinced. “I just don’t want to cause any trouble. For either of us. If people see you carting me around…. There’s a lot of landpeople who don’t think much of my kind, let’s just say that.” 

“Pfft,” Joe responded. “I see merfolk all the time, mingling with us. I’ve never seen any of them hassled.” 

“Maybe not to their faces,” Mick added, under their breath. “Sorry,” they amended hurriedly, looking small as they studied their hands in their lap. “I just can’t help but be nervous. I’ve had some… bad experiences, alright?” 

Joe dropped the handle and went to Mick’s side, kneeling beside the cart again. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking we could have a bit of fun... I didn’t think about how it must be so intimidating for you.” 

Mick lifted their eyes, meeting Joe’s briefly. They blushed as they offered their hand to Joe, and Joe clasped it with both of his. “I reckon I shouldn’t be worried, huh?” Mick said sheepishly. “I know you’ll look after me.” 

A broad smile spread across Joe’s face, making him duck his head, happy to hear that Mick trusted him. “Does that mean I can take you for some chips? I know a good place, not far from here.” 

Mick’s lips gave a wry twist, as they yanked their hand away. “Chips? You said you’d been _saving_. Not much, evidently.” 

Joe grinned, then crept one of his hands to Mick’s tail. “I’d be careful if I were you….” 

Mick gasped, and then, just as Joe’s fingers were crawling closer to their lateral line, they reached forward to stop him, grasping his wrist tightly. The motion put their face only inches apart from Joe’s, close enough for him to smell the ocean in their hair, to feel the heat of their deep blush, and to watch their smile falter. 

It seemed like heartbeat after heartbeat that Joe stayed like that, frozen in place while Mick searched his eyes, the two of them barely breathing. Joe felt his own eyes go lower, where, he wasn’t sure, but it was pointless wondering, as Mick was pulling away again, looking resolutely at their lap. 

“I am feeling a bit hungry, actually,” they said, quiet and cordial, an attempt to resume the earlier playfulness between them and Joe. 

Joe took that as his cue to stand. “I’m starved,” he agreed quickly. “’Course, after dragging you round, I’ll be able to eat a whale.” 

He was glad to see a shy smile return to Mick’s face, enough for him to turn around and start pulling again. It was still seemingly miles before he reached any sort of pavement, but he was glad for the distraction of the exercise, taking his mind off something he wished had never happened. 

It was true, that after only a few weeks of getting to know Mick, he had begun to feel something more, a new sort of warmth that intensified whenever his thoughts wandered to them, even when the two of them were apart. Had it been anyone else, he would have pursued those feelings, but with Mick, it was different. All the blushes and the shy looks they gave him meant that they were nervous around him, but likely not for the reason he hoped. Mick had been hurt before, that much Joe had worked out. If he came on too strong, or at all, he knew he would only make things worse. Therefore, he had resolved to protect Mick by keeping his feelings to himself. 

Now, it was clear that he had slipped up, worrying Mick and possibly even frightening them. He was disgusted with himself for his lack of self-control, and he made himself promise that it wouldn’t happen again. Though he acknowledged there was a very slight possibility that Mick _wasn’t_ afraid of him and actually reciprocated his feelings, the thought of breaking their trust in him just to find out for himself was far too painful to bear. And it wasn't worth the risk of hurting them or losing them as a friend. 

All of those tumbling thoughts made the trip to the chip shop seem to fly by for Joe. In some way, they were even welcome, as they distracted from the effort of pulling, and he hardly felt tired at all, at least physically, as he parked Mick at a table, positioning them in the shadow of the umbrella to protect them from the sun. 

“I'll get us something to eat, yeah. Are you alright to stay here?” 

He paused for Mick to look around, gauge whether they were comfortable with their surroundings. There were a few other people scattered about the tables; a mum with two small children, a teenage couple, an old man with his dog. Mick and Joe had, understandably, received a few stares at their arrival, but nobody was yet making a fuss, or even seemed to care much at all. 

“I'll be fine,” Mick assured him, adding sarcastically, “I’ll try not to wander off.” 

Convinced, Joe went for their food and came back, feeling rather ridiculously relieved when he returned to find Mick still safe and sound. They both ate quietly, Joe thinking over the rest of the day, occasionally meeting Mick’s eye and exchanging a smile with them. He couldn’t help but feel cautiously hopeful again, beginning to bubble with eagerness to show Mick a nice time. 

“There’s somewhere I’d like to take you,” he blurted, after finishing his last chip in a hurry. When Mick gave him an open, curious look, he continued, a little more steadily, “It’s a secondhand shop. It’s not far from here. I think you’ll like it.” 

To his delight, Mick looked shyly eager as they picked through their dwindling pile of chips. “You think so?” 

“Yeah. Would you like to see it?” 

Mick bit their lip. “Would they let me in? My kind?” 

“I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t think so,” he reassured them. “I know the owners. They’re not like that.” 

It seemed to ease Mick somewhat. “What are we waiting for then?” They balled up their empty bag and aimed it at a nearby rubbish bin, overshooting it by a mile. 

Joe giggled as he trotted to pick it up. “It’s easier to throw things through air. Remember that.” 

Mick was blushing again, their tail flicking like an irritated cat's. Haughtily, they brushed their hair over their shoulder and shrugged, as Joe took up the wagon’s handle and struggled to get it moving again, even with Mick’s help. 

“Giddy up,” they said behind him, giving their tail a small splash to sprinkle Joe with water. When he turned to give them a dirty look, they added innocently, “What? You didn’t give me a whip for this contraption. What am I _supposed_ to do to get you moving?” 

“Be _nice_ ,” Joe said. “Or I’ll leave you for the gulls.” 

Once he reached the pavement, it was much easier going, especially with his cheeky cargo quieted down. He settled into a brisk enough pace, looking back to see Mick relaxed and lounging. They even began whistling cheerily and waving at curious passersby, seeming to have grown comfortable enough to revel in the bizarre sight they made. 

Joe couldn’t help smiling proudly when the children in particular took great delight in seeing them. He wondered if it was not only because Mick was a merperson, but that they were the sort of merperson that one typically did not see on land. After all, most of the merpeople that Joe had seen around the city were more toned-down, usually with short hair, landperson clothes, and limited jewellery. Mick, with all their bangles and seashells and finery and long hair, must have looked straight out of a storybook, causing some people, mostly younger, to react more positively. One particular little girl that the two of them passed practically shrieked with happiness, pointing excitedly, until they approached and she went still and shy, clinging to her mother’s trousers with wide eyes. 

“A princess,” she breathed, in awe, as Joe slowed the cart. Mick smiled at the girl, but her mother yanked her back sharply by the arm. 

“We mustn’t stare, dear,” she admonished, then resumed walking briskly away, but not before leaving Joe and Mick with a disapproving glare. 

Joe could hardly look at Mick afterwards, feeling awful that they had to go through that. All Mick could do was shrug, before turning back just in time to see the girl turn her head too, giving Mick a timid wave that they returned. As she was ushered further and further away, though, Mick sighed and slumped against the side of the cart, looking glum, yet oddly flattered. 

“I’ve never been called a princess before,” they mused. 

“I don’t believe _that_ for a second,” Joe drawled, earning another splash. He set off again, hoping the shop was nearer than it seemed, and he could forget about the look of contempt in that woman’s eyes. 

“Well, I’m glad _some_ people can see me for what I’m worth,” he heard Mick say airily. He looked back to see them sitting up straight, chin held high, before dissolving into a self-deprecating grin as they met Joe’s eyes. 

They continued in amiable silence, Joe wondering how Mick could maintain high spirits after encountering such intolerance. For him, it was just another example of how Mick simply did what they wanted and didn’t seem to be too bothered by what people thought of them. Joe loved that about them, but part of him wondered if they hurt inside when they were treated badly. If they did, though, they hid it well, seeming to be past it as Joe pulled them up to the shop, pausing at the door to make sure they still wanted to go inside. 

“I’ll try not to slosh on the floor,” Mick muttered wryly, and Joe grinned as he opened the door, struggling to pull the cart through while keeping it open. 

“Let me help you with that, lad.” 

Joe was glad to hear the familiar voice of the old shopkeeper, Harry, as he tottered over to hold the door open. Joe greeted him with a nod, and a smile that was probably more like a grimace, as he hauled Mick over the bump in the doorway, expending an embarrassing amount of effort for an obstacle so small. Once the cart was fully inside the quiet shop, Joe tried not to breathe too obviously hard as he pulled Mick to the counter, weaving carefully through racks and shelves of dusty old clothes, furniture, and memorabilia. All of it was crammed into the small space and piled high to the water-stained ceiling, threatening to bury them in a nostalgic avalanche. Mick seemed transfixed by it all, reaching out a hand to brush past the legs of hanging trousers and stare openly at the racks of shoes, their expression astounded, mystified and amused all at once. 

“This is Mick, Harry,” Joe said proudly, drawing Mick's attention away from a pair of patent red platforms. They looked a bit nervous as the shopkeeper bent slightly to regard them, with his spectacles pulled down to his bulbous nose, and his big, bushy moustache twitching as he took them in. Evidently, he decided they were acceptable, as he offered them his hand, huge and paw-like, to which Mick gave their own, much more slender and delicate. 

“I know you,” Harry said as he straightened back up to his full, imposing height, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. “You’re the crack harmonica player, you are.” 

Mick shrugged, a little bashful. “You’ve got the wrong merperson. I wouldn’t call _my_ squawking about anything special.” 

Harry waved his hand at him as he went behind the counter. “Codswallop. I’m sure you’re twice as good as the rubbish you hear on the radio these days. Disco and whatnot. Hmph.” 

Joe bit his lip, both holding back a laugh and bursting with anxious excitement as Harry retrieved a small box from behind the counter, bringing it around to Mick. 

“Have it, it’s yours, and it’s already been paid for by a special someone,” he told Mick as he thrust it at them, giving Joe a surreptitious wink. 

Mick took the slim box carefully, looking at it with knitted eyebrows. “Joe, did you…?” 

“Just open it,” Joe urged them, failing to keep the boyish eagerness out of his voice. 

Mick lifted the lid to reveal a harmonica, real, metal, and full-size, a little worn and rusty, but still gleaming prettily in its black velour setting. They gasped and nearly dropped it onto their lap, a bright, small laugh escaping them as they clutched their hand tighter around the box. They didn’t seem to know whether they wanted more to look at Joe or the instrument in their hand, their eyes lighting up with surprise and happiness. 

Joe was still feeling quite bashful about the gift, despite Mick's obvious delight. “Sorry it isn’t new. I hope it’s not completely clapped out.” 

Mick grinned. “Long as you gave it a good clean,” they joked, setting the box on the floor so they could examine it in both hands, turning it this way and that. 

Harry snorted, looking offended at their suggestion, before he shuffled back to his post on the stool behind the register. “Well, will you be playing something for us, or not?” 

Blushing, Mick took a deep breath and put the harmonica to their mouth, playing a short tune before reeling in sheepish surprise at the way the sound filled every corner of the room, so unlike what they were used to. Even Joe had to wince at the volume, but Harry went right on fiddling with a broken watch, his moustache twitching again as he smirked. 

“Don’t worry, merman, you won’t disturb the neighbors.” He jerked his thumb at the ceiling. “It’s all rats and pigeons up there.” 

Mick grinned, then resumed playing, putting the harmonica through its paces, high and low, long and loud. Joe watched them proudly, his fingers itching right then for his ukulele, even as the last shrill note sank into the half-rotted floorboards. 

“Does that mean you like it?” Joe asked hopefully. 

“I do, very much,” Mick replied sincerely, meeting Joe’s eyes with a broad smile, before growing shy and lowering their head, reaching for the box to put the harmonica away again. 

“There’s something else I’d like to get you,” Joe offered, a distraction from the fluttering warmth in his stomach. He slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the extra bit of money he was carrying, before taking up the cart handle again. “I needed you to be here first. You know how it’s getting colder?” At Mick’s nod, he continued, maneuvering Mick through the shop, “Well, I wanted you to be able to come up as long as you can, and I know you merpeople don’t mind the cold, but still....” 

“Joe,” Mick intoned, “You’ve already done so much....” 

“Let me buy you a jacket, yeah?” Joe blurted, feeling himself flush at his own eagerness. He pulled the cart up to the racks that were stuffed to bursting with old coats and trousers and shirts and ties. 

Mick looked almost exasperated, their eyes downcast and their hands wringing. “This is all very sweet, but... why? I can’t get _you_ anything.” 

Joe shrugged. “You brought me that really good sea-weed a few times.” Shaking his head, he waved Mick off. “Besides, that’s not what this is about. I’m not buying you things because I want _you_ to buy me anything in return. Actually... it’s much more selfish than that.” 

“How so?” 

Joe shuffled his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, think about it. I get you a cart, so I can take you around the city with me. I buy you a harmonica, so you can play more music with me. I want to buy you a jacket, so you can come up and see me all year round. See? I’m just being selfish, really. I want to see you all the time, and I... want to keep you longer for myself, I suppose.” 

He gave Mick a shrug and a grin, but it fell as soon as he saw the expression of surprise and faint queasiness on Mick’s face, recognizing immediately that he had really stepped in it this time. All color had drained from them, even their scales looking a shade lighter, and they opened and closed their mouth, no sound coming out. They looked ill, and Joe wanted to throw himself into traffic, furious with himself for ruining everything just like he knew he would. 

“Look, Christ... I’m sorry, that was uncalled for, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I....” 

“Can we go?” Mick managed, voice constricted. “Just, outside? Please?” 

Joe nodded, dragging the cart out the door without so much as a wave to Harry. He heaved it and Mick out onto the pavement, pulling them into a nearby alley, where he could slide down the wall and put his head in his hands. 

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, Mick. I swear, I didn’t mean to....” 

He shut his mouth as soon as Mick wrapped their arms around themself, looking terribly uncomfortable. “It’s alright, Joe, really. I should have put a stop to it, but I didn’t know that’s what you were trying to do.” 

“I know,” Joe groaned. “I should have told you from the beginning.” 

“I just thought I made it clear before, that I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I guess I didn’t, though, because you’re giving me all these spawning gifts....” 

Joe’s head snapped up, his eyes going wide. “Wait. What?” 

Mick stared at him for a moment. “All the nice things you’re buying for me? Wanting to keep me for yourself? Joe... I thought I made this clear before, I have no interest in mating, not with anybody.” 

Joe goggled at him. “Huh?” 

Mick tightened their hold around themself. “What do you mean, _huh_? You’re giving me spawning gifts!” 

“Spawning _what_?” 

By this point, Mick was bright red. “You know.... When merpeople are interested in spawning, they give each other gifts. Lots of them. I thought you read about this stuff!” 

Joe blanched. “Not about the mating habits!” he exclaimed. “You said you weren’t interested, so I didn’t even bother looking into it. I didn’t think it would ever come up!” 

Mick groaned, rubbing at their face with their hands. “You are a _terrible_ researcher....” 

But Joe couldn’t help grinning, realizing now where the misunderstanding had occurred. “You thought I was trying to... spawn with you?” He started to collapse into giggles, then thought deeper on it, suddenly going quiet and horrified. “You thought I was trying to spawn with you.” 

Mick squirmed a little. “Well, no, not at first. The chips were... well, just _chips_ , and the harmonica was just a present. But then there was the jacket, and you saying you wanted to keep me for yourself.... It all started to sound horribly familiar.” 

Joe frowned, turning so he was on his knees next to the cart. “Familiar?” 

Mick looked away, and Joe immediately regretted prying. But, by now he knew that Mick was not one to retreat from their troubles, never letting anything hold them back. 

“I go onto the beach a lot,” they began. “I’ve met all sorts of people. Almost all of them have been kind. They’ve stopped to talk to me, shared their cigarettes, their weed...” They smiled at Joe, sharing a fond look with him before continuing, “But some have had other ideas. One man... he liked to give me things, too, like little presents. He knew about merpeople, about our rituals. I twigged what he was doing, and told him to knock it off, but he didn’t want to. Things were just... moving too fast for me. The romantic side of it was alright at first, but he wanted more than just kissing and holding hands. And he wouldn’t listen when I said I didn’t like _more_. He said I was just nervous, needed loosening up. After all, merpeople and humans do that sort of thing all the time. Which is fine, of course.” They paused to take in a quiet, deep breath. “Anyway, I managed to get away. I lured him in, pretended like I changed my mind, then I slapped him with my tail. Surprised him enough that I was able to get back in the water.” 

Mick was smirking wryly at the memory, but Joe was horrified. “Christ, Mick. I made you feel like that all over again, didn't I? I am so sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Mick said, tired but firm. “Really, Joe. Nothing even really happened.” 

“I’m glad you were able to get away,” Joe said softly. “You’re very brave.” 

“You really think so? Most would call me stupid, for not learning my lesson to stay away from landpeople.” 

“The only one who needed to learn a lesson was that creep,” Joe spat. At Mick’s quirk of a grin, he softened, wanting to make sure they knew how highly he thought of them, how much they were worth to him. “Yes, I do think you’re brave. _You_ called to _me _, remember? You weren’t afraid of me. You might’ve been a little _moody_....” __

____

____

Mick’s lips twitched into a soft smile, and they blushed at the good-natured remark. “I could tell you were kind,” they said softly. “And you proved me right, sharing your stash without even thinking about it.” 

Joe smiled at the memory. “I’m glad you called to me.” 

“So am I. I knew I would find someone special if I just kept trying. And I did.” 

“You think so?” Joe asked, warmth spreading through to his fingers and toes to hear Mick say they thought him special. 

Mick nodded, then looked down bashfully. “Joe, erm, this is… God, this is hard to say out loud.... Listen, I don’t want to ruin everything, and I think you feel the same way anyway, but…. Well, what I’m trying to say is, I think I see you as more than just a friend now. And it seems like you do, too?” 

Joe wished they didn't have to be so fearful of rejection, practically feeling them tremble with nervousness. There was no need, not when all Joe could feel inside was giddiness, bubbling up into a huge grin, almost stupidly happy. “I do. I _have_ , actually,” he admitted. “But I never thought that you would, so I… tried to keep it to myself. I guess it was still pretty obvious, huh?” 

“We’re a perceptive species,” Mick said drily. 

Joe grinned. “Alright, so I was trying not to frighten you away, and I failed.” 

“I do appreciate the effort,” Mick conceded, blushing light pink again. “But though I may be a bit of a fusspot, I’m not _that_ delicate.” 

Joe snorted. “I don’t think you’re delicate. I think you’re worth it.” 

He was flushing as soon as it came out, but was relieved to see that Mick looked pleased, if a little apprehensive again. Joe had an idea of what they wanted, but he hesitated, giving them a chance to slip away if he had gotten it wrong. 

“Mick? Would it be alright if I kissed you?” 

Their breath caught, and they looked straight at Joe, eyes wide. “Oh, er, I-I dunno….” they stammered, and Joe immediately felt terrible for misreading them and troubling them with his own wants. 

“It’s okay, really,” he assured them, “We don’t have to- “ 

“I do want to,” Mick blurted, interrupting Joe before he could apologize for hours like he wanted to. “I’m sorry, I think I was just caught off guard. I… you know I won’t want to go any further than that, right?” 

“Er, yeah, I think it's gotten through even my thick skull,” Joe drawled. “But you said you like the romantic side of things, as long as it doesn't go too far. So, if you like just kissing, we can do that. I’d love to do that. If you don’t, it’s okay too. I’d love to do whatever you like to do, really." 

Mick’s teeth worried at their lip while they thought it over. “Okay, right. I trust you. I’d like to as well, but… maybe not yet? I just don’t think I’m ready….” 

They sounded like they were assuring themself, and Joe’s heart ached knowing that setting boundaries had been made particularly difficult for them. “Yeah, 'course. Whenever you’re ready. I understand that.” 

Mick took his hand, a silent thank you for his patience. It was enough to make Joe grin like an idiot, so happy to still have their trust, no matter how badly he had almost mucked it up. 

For a few peaceful moments, they were able to just be together, quiet and alone. The outside world that had faded away as they had been talking to each other slowly crept back in, though, and Joe could hear people walking past the alley, snippets of conversations along with the staccato of shoes striking pavement. He watched the people go by, most walking quickly and resolutely, hardly even glancing into the alley. 

Joe felt safe to continue holding Mick’s hand, until a more worrying sound pricked up his ears. It was the unmistakable low jabber of a small group of teenage boys, their voices slowing to a halt as they all three stopped at the entrance of the alley. Joe sprang up quickly, but they had already seen Mick’s hand in his, the two of them sitting a little too close. After exchanging sly glances with each other, the leader of the gang stepped forward, wearing a sneer on his pinched, rat-like face. 

“What have we got here? A pair of fin-fuckers, having it off in an alley. Real romantic, eh, boys?” 

His cronies snickered behind him, while Joe attempted to grab the cart handle and slip back out onto the pavement, where there could be witnesses. Just as he was pushing through the group, though, their leader slammed a rough hand to his chest, stopping him cold. Joe’s heart sank in disappointment, while anger made him ball up his fist at his side, and he set his jaw firmly to help arrange his face into something that wasn’t so obviously fear. 

“We don’t want any trouble,” he growled, knowing it was probably useless. 

The leader pursed his lips, feigning sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’ll just leave you alone then, won’t we? Let you stick it in your little fish trap in peace, eh?” 

“I wasn’t….” Joe started, trying to push through again, but the other two stepped to him, surrounding him like a wall, while the leader poked his finger into Joe’s chest. 

“It’s disgusting, is what it is,” he spat, going nose to nose with Joe so he could feel his breath on his face. “Those things belong in the fucking ocean, right?” 

Horrifyingly, Joe heard Mick pipe up from below. “Maybe _you_ do. I don’t think you ever evolved out of it!” 

The leader turned his hateful sneer towards Mick, then jerked his head towards the cart. “Go on,” he addressed his sidekicks, “He wants to be on land so bad? Give ‘im what he wants.” 

“No!” Joe began to fight, launching himself at the first bigot he saw moving in towards Mick. Unfortunately, he had never been the biggest or the strongest or the best brawler, and, even with the adrenaline of rage and protectiveness for Mick coursing through his veins, he was quickly yanked back by the leader, gathered up with his arms behind his back, helpless to watch as the other two strained to tip Mick over. Mick yelled and flailed with their driftwood, landing occasional blows, but it was little use, as soon they were spilt onto the ground, a great wave of water flowing from the alley and onto the pavement. 

Laughing, the two proceeded to kick the cart apart, until it was practically splinters, running off with some of the bigger pieces and whooping triumphantly. The leader shoved Joe to the ground and legged it after them, but wasn’t quite able to outrun the expertly thrown sponge that Mick heaved at him, hitting the back of his head with a wet splat. Joe held his breath, expecting the brute to turn around again and let them have it some more, but all he did was yelp in surprise and continue to run after his mates. The alley was left horribly silent, apart from Mick’s quiet whimpers of pain as they struggled to drag themself over to the wall so they could lean against it. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Joe breathed, crawling over through the spilt water as quickly as he could to help. “You alright?” 

“Peachy,” Mick sneered, as Joe looked over them, his hands hovering for a moment as he wanted to touch them, but thought better of it. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” was all he could manage again, trying desperately just to think straight for one blessed second. But with Mick lying there, miles away from the ocean, no one to look after them while Joe ran for help, it was nearly impossible to do so, and the effort was making him panic. 

“You have to get help,” Mick said, quiet and calm. Their tail was flapping restlessly against the ground, and their hands wrapped tight around Joe’s forearms. 

Joe’s stomach churned, but he knew they were right. Carefully, he touched their side, right where their skin met their scales. “I’ll go,” he said, more to himself, scrambling to his feet, ignoring how his legs shook badly. “I’m sorry,” he said again, reluctant to leave. 

Mick waved him on. “You did the best you could. Just _go_ , _now_ ,” they urged. 

Joe obeyed with a last look at Mick, on the verge of tears at the sight of them lying in the alley, alone and helpless. He got his legs moving well enough to make it to the door of Harry’s shop, bursting through breathlessly. 

“I need help,” he gasped, pushing past two customers who were flipping through the used records. “Where’s Harry? I need the phone!” 

Joe allowed himself behind the counter, but he couldn’t find any telephone, leaving him close to breaking down into desperate tears. He had to give up on the search, and started to run back through the shop, his eyes nearly too blurry to see where he was going. Blind with tears and fear and anger, he was unable to dodge the body that suddenly stepped in front of him, small yet solid. 

“ _Easy _, mate. What’s the matter?”__

____

____

Frantically, Joe wiped at his eyes to see one of the customers he had passed earlier, a short, wiry fellow with sandy brown hair, about his age. His touch on Joe’s arm was gentle, and instinct told Joe he could tell him about it, sensing an openness in him, as well as in his tall blonde companion, who was watching their interaction with concern. 

Joe shook his head, too distraught to speak. Instead, he took the smaller guy by the arm and led him outside, practically yanking him to the alley. He almost fainted with relief to see Mick still sitting there, watching with trepidation as Joe and his new companions clomped in. Joe went immediately to his knees in the grime to be by Mick’s side again, to reassure them and calmly tell them his plan. 

“Mick, I don’t think we can get you back to the ocean in time. My place is a lot closer, though. I have a bathtub you can stay in until we figure this out.” 

Mick nodded, looking Joe in the eye, then cast a fearful gaze up at Joe’s prospective helpers. “Nice to meet you,” they said, attempting wryness but unable to disguise the tremor in their voice. 

Joe also turned to the two strangers. “You have to help me,” he begged, taking Mick’s arm and demonstrating how to lift them. He paused suddenly, holding out his hand to keep the two men at bay for a moment so he could ask Mick, “Is it okay for them to touch you, to help me carry you?” 

“No, I’d rather you just dragged me singlehandedly by the hair back to your cave,” they drawled, this time fully sarcastic, without a hint of fear. 

Joe attempted a huff of a laugh, relieved to have the Mick he knew at least somewhat intact, and quickly ushered his help forward. The short bloke took Mick’s other arm, while the tall blond hooked his arms under Mick’s tail, and together the three of them lifted, surprising Joe with how relatively easy it was to carry Mick that way. 

“Bollocks to the cart,” Joe said lightly. “ _This_ is how I should’ve been taking you round with me this whole time.” 

Mick offered a watery smile, but it was strained and they were flushed red, clearly embarrassed to need so much help. Joe, desperate to keep the mood light, turned to address his new friends. 

“I’m Joe, by the way. I’d offer to shake your hand but… you know.” 

“I’m Nicky, but Paul over there calls me Topper,” the shorter one said. “And I heard him call you Mick?” 

“You heard right,” Mick confirmed, a touch grumpy but amiable enough given the circumstances. 

For the next few minutes, they focused on shuffling Mick along as quickly as they could, following Joe’s lead to his flat. They received many stares on the way, some bemused, most disapproving. Joe didn’t dare to consider what passersby were thinking he was doing carrying a bedraggled-looking merperson through the streets with two other men as the sun was going down. He could only hope nobody would decide to alert the authorities, for once relying on the apathy and anti-merperson sentiment of the public. 

“How much further?” Mick grumbled, wriggling slightly. “My armpits are starting to chafe.” 

They were complaining, but it actually helped to set Joe at ease, knowing that Mick felt themself enough to whinge like they usually did. He ducked his head to hide a small grin, before mumbling about being close and not to worry. Though he was happy to see the Mick he knew coming back to him, he was beginning to tire dramatically, and he knew that Paul and Topper must have been as well. 

Finally, they arrived at the steps to Joe’s building, where he opened the door, careful and slow, checking to see if anyone was around. He could hear murmuring from some of the rooms, and a television blaring somewhere, but there was no immediate threat of being seen, so he cautiously lead the party through the door and up the stairs, cringing each time a floorboard creaked underfoot. 

All Joe wanted to do upon reaching the first-floor landing was collapse, his exhaustion made worse by trying not to breathe or groan with effort too loudly. His muscles in his arms and legs and back were dying for reprieve, but he couldn’t rest just yet, guiding Mick to the bathroom and setting them carefully on the closed toilet lid. 

Quickly, he gestured for Paul to shut the door behind him, and the four of them had to cram together in the limited space. Topper and Paul kept out of the way as best they could, leaning tiredly against the wall near the sink, while Joe immediately started the bath running, praying for there to be warm water left. 

“Is this okay?” he asked Mick, holding his cupped hands full of water for Mick to test. 

They levelled him with an exasperated look as they dipped in a dainty pinky. “Wonderful,” they said flatly. “It’s not boiling or full of ice floes, so I’d like very much to get in now.” 

Joe could indeed see that their tail was beginning to dry, all the rough handling and sitting in the dirt not helping their scales retain any moisture. More worryingly though, was the way their gills looked, flushed red and working desperately, making Joe hiss quietly at how painful it must have been for them. 

“Help me get them in, yeah?” he urged Paul and Topper, beckoning them both closer. Together, they were able to lower Mick into the bathtub with only a small amount of cursing and slipping and throwing of accidental elbows. Mick kept their protests to themself, even though Joe knew they had every right to be upset about the jarring way they were being handled. 

Finally, though, Mick was settled into the tub, just fitting as long as they kept fairly upright at the waist. Joe quickly went to work helping Mick get water to their scales and their gills, taking handfuls straight from the tap and sluicing it over their body from head to fins. He made sure to get plenty to their throat, soothing their gills with it, while they tipped their head back and groaned, eyes closing with Joe’s careful treatment. 

Eventually, the tub filled up enough that Mick no longer needed Joe to so frantically help wet them down, sinking into the water in relief. Joe was able to slump against the side of the tub as soon as he saw that Mick was going to be alright, his heart beating hard and his arms gone completely to jelly. 

He rested his cheek on the cool edge of the tub, allowing his eyes to close to the sound of Mick continuing to rub water over themself, eventually slowing to a stop once they were sufficiently hydrated. His left arm dangled into the tub uselessly, and he could feel Mick’s fingertips on his skin, skimming down his forearm before gently taking his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” they said, unbelievably. Joe’s head whipped up to give them an incredulous look, softening when he saw the tears in their eyes. 

“Don’t ever….” he began, but it died in his throat when he sat up and reached for Mick to wipe their tears away. He wished he could crawl into the tub with them and wrap his arms around them, his heart aching to see them laid so low. 

As it was, he was only able to stroke gently up and down their tail, smiling when he felt the smooth, slippery scales underneath his fingers and palm. “I love the way you told those slapheads off,” he said quietly, hoping to cheer Mick up. “And good shot with the sponge, to boot. I’ll have to get you a new one.” 

Mick managed a faint smile. “I had to hit them with something. Knew you wouldn’t be able to, not with those scrawny little small-fry arms of yours.” 

They gave Joe’s wrist a playful squeeze, and Joe grinned, tangling his own fingers with Mick’s to return the gesture. He was close to forgetting the outside world completely, until he heard a low voice behind him, and remembered Paul and Topper were still in the room. 

“Can I ask... what happened?” Paul ventured, cautious yet curious. 

Joe sighed and turned to sit with his back to the tub again. He beckoned Topper and Paul to sit, and they obliged, their feet nearly touching Joe’s as they all barely managed to fit in the small room. 

“Some people are arseholes,” Mick said simply, when Joe couldn’t quite think where to begin. 

Topper exchanged a look with Paul, before turning back to Joe and Mick, his eyebrows drawn in seriousness. “Was it because you’re a merman, or because… you’re together?” 

Joe shrugged, holding up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. He glanced back at Mick, knowing that it must have twinged to have Topper calling them a _merman_ , on top of everything. But they were looking resolutely at their lap, uncaring or unable to bother correcting him. 

“We only just got together, actually,” they said, soft and fond. 

“We’ve known each other for a while, but… well, I managed to not fuck it up too badly and convinced this one to waste their time with me,” Joe put in, self-deprecating. 

Once again, Topper and Paul seemed mildly confused by the pronoun Joe used for Mick, but neither said anything about it. Rather, Paul snorted a small laugh, nudging his foot against Joe’s. 

“Congratulations. We’ve been together for almost a year,” he said, slipping his hand into Topper’s who took it in both of his and squeezed it with a small, happy grin. 

Joe shared an amused look with Mick, then felt compelled to reach into the tub for their hand. They took it shyly, blushing as they looked at Topper and Paul doing the same. 

“Guess we’re all just a pack of fairies, huh?” they muttered, lips twisting wryly. 

Joe chuckled, and Topper and Paul smiled, and whatever slight tension had remained in the room seemed to let out. Joe felt comfortable enough to turn back to Mick, draping himself over the tub to gaze at them, so thankful they hadn’t been seriously hurt. 

“I’ll try to get you back tomorrow morning,” he promised them, pressing his hand into their scales just above their tail fin. “Even if I have to steal another cart.” 

Mick bit their lip, their hands wringing. “Don’t leave me,” they begged, voice so small Joe doubted Paul and Topper could hear. 

It took Joe’s breath from him, and once again, all he wanted was to wrap them up, take them into his arms so nothing could get to them. “I’ll have to. Much as I’d like to keep you in my bath forever, I don’t think you’d like that very much.” 

“Just toss me a fish finger every once in a while. I’ll be alright,” they joked weakly. 

Joe heard shuffling, and saw Paul approaching the bath cautiously, sitting beside it next to Joe. “How can we help?” 

“I honestly don’t know,” Joe told him, grateful yet despondent. “If I could be sure we wouldn’t get thrown out, we could just take a taxi to the beach tomorrow morning.” 

Paul frowned. “They probably wouldn’t even pick us up,” he agreed. “You sure we couldn’t carry you all the way back to the beach ourselves?” 

Mick snorted. “It’s a lot further than it was to get me here, and you three could already barely handle that.” 

“It’s a fair cop,” Topper conceded, grinning. “I wish one of us had a car.” 

“Or a mate who could lend us a car,” Paul added. 

“Or the knowledge of how to steal a car,” Joe finished, morose. “I know a few people I could ask, but honestly? I’d rather not let many more people know about you,” he told Mick. 

Mick snorted. “Where was that attitude when you were parading me around town earlier?” 

Joe flushed, embarrassed. He knew Mick was joking, but he said seriously, “I think I was being naïve. I’m sorry I put you in danger because of it. I see now what you were trying to warn me of.” 

Mick shrugged it off. “I was naïve, too. I was too excited, I think, to finally have someone who wanted to do all those things with me to give a toss about the consequences. Besides, in an ideal world, you would be able to drag me around all you liked. Or you could shove me in a taxi right now and I could be back where I belong in no time.” 

“You belong here,” Joe insisted, blushing at his own haste. “I mean, not in _there_ , obviously, but… on land. You have just as much a right to it as I’ve got to take scuba lessons.” 

Mick squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you think so. Now if we can just convince our pals that tipped me over.” 

“I’m sure they’ll come round.” Joe gave them a rueful half-grin. 

The room fell silent for a few minutes, the four of them keeping their thoughts to themselves. Joe knew his were a jumble, mostly various shades of anger. Much of it was directed at himself; as much as Mick had absolved him of his mistakes, the fact that he could have gotten Mick seriously hurt, or worse, haunted him each time his thoughts circled back to what had happened. It brought a chill to his stomach to think of Mick, his wonderful Mick, being even slightly frightened or upset under his watch. 

And he had only escaped his blunder through sheer dumb luck. Paul and Topper had shown up like a pair of rag-tag guardian angels, with leather jackets and boots instead of harps and wings. But even they couldn’t do anything else to help Joe and Mick out of their situation, even if Joe had the right to ask. 

“Look, guys,” Topper began suddenly, snapping Joe out of his darkening thoughts. “Worse comes to worst, we pop him in a wheelie bin and drag him back to the ocean. Or we just carry him again…. If we take breaks, and carry a sponge and a bucket with us or something, I’m sure we can do it.” 

Joe and Mick exchanged looks, Mick’s eyebrows going up in amusement. “That would be very kind of you,” they said slowly, as if they were afraid Topper would change his mind. 

He waved them off, though. “It’s nothing. We’d want it done for us, wouldn’t we?” he asked, addressing Paul, who shrugged. 

“’Course. I think we’re pretty much involved now. We’d have to be right bastards to let you work it out on your own.” 

Joe felt his first genuine relief since the encounter, so warm and wonderful that it brought a grateful, if exhausted smile to his face. “Glad there’s some decency left in this town,” he mumbled, briefly touching Paul’s forearm. He was still worried, though, wanting to make sure Topper and Paul knew what they were getting into. “You know it won’t exactly be safe, right?” 

Paul shrugged again, lacing his fingers together around his knee. “We’ve been in our share of scrapes. Actually, I wish we could’ve been there when it happened in the first place.” 

Joe grinned, picturing it. “We could’ve taken them on easy, three on three. Plus, Mick could’ve given ‘em a right splashing.” 

“Oi!” Mick protested, giving _Joe_ said splashing. 

Topper and Paul were grinning as they got to their feet and dusted themselves off. “Sleep well. We’ll be back around sunup, yeah?” Topper offered. Joe nodded, and Paul gave him a friendly hair ruffle, and then they were sneaking out the door, shutting it softly behind them, leaving Mick and Joe alone. 

“Well,” Mick chirped, “They’re not all bad, I suppose. Landpeople.” 

Joe huffed, mock-annoyed, still staring at the door. “What, _I_ wasn’t evidence enough?” 

He heard Mick moving through the water, then felt their arms circle around his neck. He leant back with a slight shiver, against the cool tub, smiling at Mick as they rested their chin on his shoulder. 

“I still want this,” they said, firm and sure. “We’ll have to be more careful in the future, but… I don’t want to quit. Not now, not when it’s just started.” 

That sent warmth through to Joe’s heart, and he turned slightly to come face to face with Mick. He touched their arm, watched his own hand move slowly over their pale skin, from shoulder to elbow. “You’re here,” he breathed, reminding himself of how real it was. “You’re sat in my bath, and you’re saying you want _more_ of this?” 

“Daft, innit?” they laughed. Their smile soon fell, though, as their eyes locked with Joe’s. “I know that without you, I wouldn’t be here in the first place, but I’m still so grateful for everything you’ve shown me.” 

That made Joe smile, truly glad to hear that Mick could see his intentions, even if he did bungle things quite often. “It’s only getting started,” he promised them, reaching up to rub his thumb over their cheek. “I want it to get better and better. You are a princess, after all. You deserve such things.” 

With a soft, hitching breath, Mick’s eyes closed at the touch. Joe couldn’t be sure if it was a water droplet rolling down their cheek or something else, but he brushed it away just the same. It made him wonder, as he watched Mick slowly relax against him, if they had ever been given what they wanted, and if he was up to the task of setting that right. Inside, he hoped he was, hoped he would have the chance to give Mick everything they deserved. No more fear, no more pain or sadness. Mick could feel safe anywhere, so long as they were with him.


	4. Ebb Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temporary goodbyes are said, doubts are had, and quality time is spent with friends both new and old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention: Though there aren't any major warnings for this chapter, there are still some uncomfortable outing and coming out moments, and accidental misgendering and assumptions about sexuality. Those are all straightened out by the end, but still. In addition, there's a good deal of background drinking in both pub scenes, and some talk about facing bigotry and dealing with the aftermath of the last chapter. I think that about covers it, but please let me know if there's anything else to warn for.

By morning, Joe was mired in fitful sleep, wriggling this way and that in an attempt to get comfortable, stuck between the bathtub at his back and the equally unforgiving tile underneath him. A light rap of knuckles on the door was all it took to put him out of his misery, and he woke with a bleary moan, instantly remembering everything that had happened the previous night. 

“Who’s there?” he croaked, cowering against the bathtub, desperate to hear a friendly voice. 

“Your knight in shining Dr. Martens,” was the quietly drawled reply. 

Joe grinned as he recognized Paul’s low voice. He scrambled off the floor to let him in, wincing as the blood rushed from his head and left him with a blinding pain just behind his eyes. He ushered Paul into the room with one hand as he pressed the other to his forehead, but all pain was forgotten as he went to his knees beside the bath. 

“Mick, wake up,” he hissed, reaching out a gentle hand to lay on their arm. 

They had been sleeping peacefully, much more peacefully than Joe, but as soon as they opened their eyes and looked around, they went tense, pulling away from him and looking up at Paul suspiciously. The fear in their eyes didn’t stay long, but it was quickly replaced by a new sort of fear, as they reached up to clamp a hand over their gills, searing red and painfully swollen. 

“ _Joe_ ,” they rasped. 

But he had already sprung into action, quickly scooping up a cupful of water and instructing Mick to tilt their head back so he could pour it over their neck. He noticed, as he saw to them, that they were shaking, tiny tremors that went all the way down to their tail. Their chest heaved, and they clutched tightly to the arm that Joe offered them, as he continued ministering to their gills with one hand. 

“You’re alright, love,” he murmured, trying to remain calm himself as he slowly eased their fears. Under his steady hands, their trembling subsided, their breathing evened out, and their grip relaxed around Joe’s wrist. Their eyes were still wide and shining, glancing occasionally up at Paul as he stood rather awkwardly nearby, before returning to Joe. 

“I had been waking up… every couple of hours… to wet myself down,” they explained, their voice no more than a painful-sounding wisp. “But I got so tired, I....” 

Joe shushed them, his own eyes brimming with tears that he had to blink away. “It’s all alright now,” he promised them, as he poured another cup of water over their neck, watching them close their eyes and give one last shudder. 

“Paul and Topper… came back?” they asked Joe as they relaxed into the water and into his touch. 

Paul stepped forward. “We did. We’re going to get you out of here.” 

“How?” 

Joe was desperately curious as well, but Paul looked like he wasn’t telling. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he told Joe and Mick. “You won’t exactly be riding in style.” 

Satisfied that their gills were no longer in danger of spontaneous combustion, Joe moved back to let Mick sit up again, keeping their hand wrapped around their neck. Automatically, Joe moved his own hand to their back, stroking them calmly and offering them a smile. 

“I’ll bet it’s an enormous, gilded carriage,” he told them conspiratorially. “With four huge, magnificent white steeds to pull you through your adoring throng.” 

He was happy to see that get a twitch of a smile, if also an eyeroll from Mick. “Idiot,” they breathed, but their blush and fond smile and the way they leant in to press their forehead to Joe’s told him they were grateful. The touch was all too brief, though; Mick seemed eager to move on, and Joe summarily scooted aside for Paul to help him hoist them out of the tub. 

The three of them made a dripping mess, leaving behind a trail of water as they traveled slowly and carefully down the stairs and out the front door. They were greeted there by Topper, who was idly smoking and guarding a battered old wheelie bin. He draped his arm over it as if to ask Joe and Mick what they thought, leaning against it and patting it like a used car salesman. 

“Eh? Not too shabby, right?” 

Joe and Paul set Mick down gently on the front steps, to have a rest before attempting to load Mick into their rather dubious method of transport. “Where did you get that?” Joe asked, amused and a touch concerned. 

“Nicked it, of course,” Topper replied brightly. He thumped on it a couple of times, then reached inside and pulled out three buckets. “This one’s for him to sit on inside there, and these are to fill it up with water,” he explained. 

Joe raised his eyebrows, impressed. He glanced down at Mick, who looked less so, staring at the bin with a slight grimace. 

“You did... _clean_ it, I hope?” 

Topper shuffled his feet sheepishly. “The best we could, anyway,” he mumbled, serious now as he was trying to assuage Mick. 

Joe gave Mick’s shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze, and that seemed to break them from their hesitation. “It’s lovely,” they said, relenting. “Thank you.” 

Topper looked relieved, and went to lean the bin against the steps. “Now, I thought we could load you in like this, at an angle, instead of having to lift you all the way up.” 

It seemed like a fine plan, though much more difficult to do in practice than in theory. Mick was wetter, their scales more slippery than the day before, but with Paul and Topper guiding them in, and Joe holding the bin still, the three of them were able to tip it back upright with its disgruntled, yet grateful cargo safely inside. 

Topper gave Mick the taller of the buckets to sit on, and they took it, looking like an unamused, wet cat as they sat with only their upper body sticking out. Paul and Topper left to fetch water, and Joe opted to stay behind with Mick for a moment, trying not to grin too broadly as he reached in for their hand. 

“Why are you pouting?” he asked as Mick gave it to him, allowing him to rub at their knuckles gently. 

Mick ducked their head, hiding a grin and a blush. “It _is_ a touch undignified,” they said, faux-haughty, before quickly dropping the act. “But I really am chuffed they’re here, that they came back.” 

“So am I,” Joe said sincerely, giving Mick’s hand a squeeze. 

It wasn’t long before Topper and Paul were back with big bucketfuls of water, enough to cover Mick nearly to the waist. Paul had also remembered a small sponge, handing it to Mick with a meaningful look at Joe. 

“Don’t want you drying out again,” he murmured to Mick, somewhat shy. 

Mick took it and smiled at him, plunging it into the water and bringing it back up to pat at their gills. “Thank you,” they said quietly, blushing when Paul gave them a quick, somewhat awkward pat on the shoulder before going back into the house with his bucket. 

“Thank Christ for those two,” Joe muttered under his breath. “I would have been well and truly fucked without them, dragging you out here and getting you stranded like I did.” 

Mick looked up at him through their eyelashes, sighing and leaning against the side of the bin. “I agreed to it, didn’t I? I knew what I was getting into. Please, stop feeling sorry for yourself. I forgive you.” 

Still, Joe felt awful, shifting back and forth on his feet. He chewed his lip, Mick watching him placidly, until finally they took pity on him and took his hand again, stilling him. Together, they waited for Topper and Paul to finish filling the bin, holding hands in the gathering daylight, out on the street where anyone could see them. The worst that happened while they waited was a pair of old ladies tottering past gave them strange looks, and Joe found himself gradually losing his jitters. Impressive given that they must have been far more uncomfortable, Mick seemed calm too, even excited for the next part of their journey. 

It took all three landpeople to tip the bin over just enough to roll it, even though it was only filled with enough water to cover Mick’s lower body. Joe winced as he, Paul, and Topper were all sloshed with it, as they held onto the handle three abreast, trying not to let it drop. After a few beats, they had the bin secure and steady, and they set off, Joe cringing each time they rolled over tiny bumps in the pavement that felt like mountain ranges, or cracks in the concrete that felt like canyons. 

As they neared Harry’s shop on their way back to the beach, Joe began to grow nervous again, wondering if their attackers would decide to return to the scene of the crime. Fortunately, it was the wrong time of day for anyone nefarious-looking to be slinking about. The streets seemed to be mostly occupied by commuters, too busy on their way to work to pay their strange-looking party any more mind than a raised eyebrow. Joe remained on-edge, though, until he heard Mick’s soft voice behind him, asking him to stop. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. On either side of him, Topper and Paul were grateful for a chance to rest, stretching out their sore arms, but Joe was only concerned with Mick, a pit forming in his stomach as he saw them looking worried and unsure. 

“I was just wondering... if you were still interested in buying me that jacket....” 

They trailed off, and Joe beamed, bringing a small, happy smile to their face along with an endearing blush. “Of course,” he said, immediately taking up the bin handle again, much to the chagrin of Paul and Topper. “There was one in particular I thought you would like. I hope it’s still there.” 

As they pulled Mick out of Harry’s shop again less than ten minutes later, an entire pack of merperson-hating hooligans couldn’t have dampened Joe’s spirits. Mick had indeed gone for the jacket that Joe knew they would like; a velveteen ladies' short coat in burgundy, trimmed ostentatiously with cream-colored faux fur and buttons. They chose to wore it for the rest of the journey, even though it wasn’t particularly cold, and Joe couldn’t help but smile each time he glanced back at them, looking regal with their hair fanned out around them and the fur ringing their neck. 

Too soon for Joe, they were back at the beach, the sand too loose for the bin to continue any further. Mick reluctantly gave up their jacket and their harmonica, and Joe handed both items to Topper, asking him and Paul with his eyes to give him and Mick a moment alone. 

On the beach, it was clear and cool, the ocean calm. Joe felt anything but inside, as he gripped the bin and smiled, weak and uneasy, glad to see Mick safe again, yet selfishly reluctant to let them go. 

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” they said wryly, taking Joe’s hands. 

Joe smirked and relaxed, his icy fingers immediately soaking up Mick’s warmth. Before he could say anything, Mick was surging up to kiss his cheek. They pulled back with a blush, looking apologetic when they saw how stunned Joe was. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Joe told them softly, regaining his composure. “I just don’t want you tipping over, is all.” 

Mick snorted at that, then fell quiet again. “I have to go,” they said, voice small. “Will you come back to me?” 

Joe beamed, delighted that Mick actually wanted him to. “Really? Can I?” 

“’Course. I’d love you to.” 

Elated, Joe lifted up onto the tips of his toes, placing a gentle hand at the back of Mick’s neck and kissing them on the forehead. They smiled and blushed prettily as he pulled back, then sat up straighter and beckoned for Paul and Topper. 

“Ready to go home?” Topper asked them lightly, sharing a knowing look with Joe, who was hoping he could blame his blush on the chill in the air. 

“Very much so, yes,” Mick sighed gratefully, while Joe and the others removed their socks and shoes and rolled up their trousers. 

Fortunately, extricating them from the bin was a bit easier than getting them inside it. Topper, Paul and Joe simply laid it on its side, letting Mick wriggle themself out far enough for the three of them to pick up. The trip to the ocean was all too short for Joe, who wished he could have turned and wheeled Mick right back to his place, though he knew they belonged where they felt safe and comfortable. 

Joe, Paul and Topper all had to wade into the cold water, depositing Mick where they could swim away easily. Joe resisted the urge to dive in after them as they sank below the surface just enough to wet their hair down entirely. They briefly popped back up, water streaming down their face, looking flushed and happy, to say goodbye one last time. Then, with a showy little turn and a powerful surge from their tail, they were gone, disappearing under the steely waters, leaving Joe shivering in the shallows, alone. 

Sighing, Joe turned and trudged back up through the lapping waves, eventually catching Paul and Topper up as they rested by the bin. They all three put their shoes back on in silence, Topper returning to him Mick’s jacket and harmonica. 

“Thank you,” Joe mumbled, draping the jacket over his arm and sliding the harmonica into his pocket. “For everything, really.” 

“Of course, no worries,” Topper said, nudging at him with his elbow. “You two make a cute couple, besides.” 

Joe went deep red, kicking at Topper’s shin playfully. “So do you lot,” he muttered. Taking a deep breath and straightening, he looked between Topper and Paul, smirking tiredly. “I am _desperate_ for an egg sandwich, and then a _drink_. What say you?” 

Paul grinned toothily, taking Topper’s arm in his as they all set off up the beach. “You _do_ owe us, I feel.” 

Joe was happy to agree. “You have no idea." 

*** 

When he, Topper, and Paul had met at the pub later that night, it had been Joe’s plan to have a few drinks and relax, spend some time with his new friends. However, as the events of the previous two days began to sink in, he found himself nursing beer after beer, growing more and more sullen and morose as the harsh reality of his and Mick’s budding relationship began to set in. 

“I just don’t know if it’s right, what we’re doing,” he complained to Paul and Topper. They had been playing pool, but were taking a break, sitting on either side of Joe and giving each other concerned looks when they thought he wouldn’t notice. 

Topper turned to Joe, skeptical. “Why? Because a few wankers had nothing better to do with their time than harass people who were minding their own business?” 

“It was just bad luck, mate,” Paul added, nudging at Joe with his elbow sympathetically. “That can't happen _every_ time.” 

“Right, but.... Mick could’ve been _hurt_ ,” Joe argued, his stomach twisting just thinking about it. “Because of me. My selfishness. I’m just wondering... would it be better for them if I called this whole thing off? I don’t want to, of course. I really like Mick. But what if something horrible happens because I can’t see sense?” 

All Paul could do was shrug. “If you really think you have to, then you have to. But it’s just as much Mick’s decision as yours. If he feels comfortable with it, well....” 

On Joe’s other side, Topper was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, besides, he’s crazy for you, mate. I wish Paul looked at me like he does you.” 

Joe had to smile at that, but there was something else nagging at him that he could no longer ignore. “You know, you two keep referring to Mick as _he_ ,” he began carefully. He was unsure if he should even make waves when it came to something rather personal for Mick, but he felt like it was the right thing to do, something Mick would have done themself if they were present. 

“What do you mean?” Topper asked. “Is he not a he?” 

“Is he a _she_?” Paul followed up, with a little more sensitivity than Topper. 

Joe shook his head. “They don’t use he _or_ she. They’re... well, them. They want to be referred to as _them_.” 

“Huh,” Topper said, taken aback. 

“We’ll have to remember that, won’t we?” Paul told Topper seriously. 

“Yeah, of course,” Topper agreed, recovering quickly. “So, is that, like, a mer-thing, or what?” 

Joe sucked at his teeth. “I’m not sure, honestly. There are probably humans who’re the same way, but.... I dunno, you know how merpeople are way ahead of us on things like that.” 

Topper nodded. He still looked a little dazed, as if learning about Mick had deeply shaken him. Joe watched as he nibbled at his lower lip, before taking a small sip of his beer and looking into space like he was thinking things over. Paul meanwhile, remained silent, picking absently at the layer of scum on the bar, and Joe found himself growing anxious. Had he said too much? He had only corrected them on Mick's pronouns, but he knew that by doing that he had revealed that they didn't identify as either a merman or a mermaid. Paul and Topper had seemed polite about being corrected, and about the way Mick presented themself, but maybe they had, until now, only assumed Mick was a bloke who was a bit feminine and wore their hair long - not a particularly uncommon thing these days. Knowing it was deeper than that may have been crossing a line too far, though, and Joe braced himself for their disapproval, ready to get up and leave if he had to, thinking it was nice to have understanding friends for at least a short while. 

“Erm, Joe,” Topper began, his voice low and serious. “Can I tell you something?” 

Joe’s heartrate doubled as he prepared to defend Mick. “Yeah, what?” he said, rather brusquely. 

Suddenly appearing just as nervous as Joe felt, Topper shifted on his barstool and cleared his throat. “I normally don’t tell people this, but, since you seem so supportive of Mick, I feel like you would understand.” He took a deep breath and leant in a little closer, lowering his voice so only Joe and Paul could hear. “I’m a bloke, you know, of course, but... I was born different. I wasn't born male.” 

Joe gawped at him. He hadn't expected that at all, and his half-drunk brain was skidding trying to keep up. “You’re... you're sort of like Mick, then? Except you were born female?” 

Topper nodded, wringing his hands. “Right, except I never felt right growing up as a girl. So, to cut a long story short, I chopped off my hair, started to wear what felt right for me, and, well.... Here I am.” 

Joe was almost too stunned to respond, glancing at Paul for help, only to see him watching Topper with fond admiration. “Thank you for telling me,” Joe said, turning back to Topper, genuinely happy that he felt like he could confide in him. He was still reeling, though, having expected aggro, or at least criticism. “I... wow. I thought you were going to call Mick a freak or something, or tell me off for liking them, but... I suppose you sort of know what it’s like, huh?” 

Topper smiled. “Well, it’s a bit different for me. For starters, I blend in a bit better than Mick does, it must be said.” 

Joe chuckled. “Mick doesn’t know the meaning of ‘blending in’.” 

“Mick is lucky to have you, Joe,” Topper told him, serious again. “Just like I'm lucky to have Paul. He’s always fought for me, not just physically, but when I'm feeling down, or like I should just give up and go back to living how everyone wants me to. That’s why I don’t think you and Mick should stop seeing each other just because society can’t handle it. Even if it’s not a hundred per cent safe, it’s better to give it all you got than give in.” 

“You know what? You’re absolutely right," Joe agreed, holding up his beer. "Here’s to not giving a shit,” he slurred, as Paul and Topper both clinked their glasses with his. “Next time I see Mick, I'll make sure to let them know, I’m in it for the long haul. No matter what happens.” 

“I’m sure they feel the same way,” Paul assured him. 

Topper swallowed down his gulp of beer, then turned to Joe again, nudging him excitedly. “If you ever need our help again with moving Mick around, we’re happy to help. I know a brilliant place you two can go, if you’re looking for a bit of a getaway together. Especially if you’re wanting something… _romantic_.” 

He waggled his eyebrows at Joe, who blushed and shoved at him lightly. “I think we both deserve that, actually. Especially since our first venture to the surface went so swimmingly. Pardon the pun.” 

“Well, we’ll make sure your next one is much better,” Topper assured him, placing a hand on his arm. 

“Thank you,” Joe told them both. He wasn’t sure if it was all the beer or genuine emotion that was making him feel so soft and warm inside, but at any rate, he felt the need to put a hand on both Topper and Paul’s shoulders, giving them each a grateful squeeze. 

The three of them sat in silence for a moment after that, drinking quietly, until Paul downed the remainder of his beer and gave Joe a poke on the arm. “Enough of this soppiness. Do you play pool, or do you just sit there and mope?” 

Defiantly, Joe got to his feet, trying not to wobble over. Paul grinned and took up the challenge, followed by Topper. Joe chalked up, ducking his head to hide a smile as counted himself even more lucky now to have the two of them. It was unlikely that anything could completely take his mind off of Mick, but for now, he could enjoy his time with his new friends, who he knew he would be able to count on through any trouble likely to come his way. 

*** 

As winter set in, it became more difficult for Joe and Mick to see each other consistently. The days were short and bitter cold, making it miserable for them to be out on the beach in the snow or frigid rain or biting wind, even with coats and umbrellas for protection. Then, whenever there were days that were unseasonably warm, both Joe and Mick were usually stuck at work until past sundown, and neither of them fancied meeting in the night. 

With the beach largely inaccessible, Mick found themself down the pub quite often, one of the only places for a merperson to go for any sort of social purposes. Their local was a small, dank bubble, with walls that leaked, and a bar that was perpetually slimy with algae, but it was better than whiling away the hours at home in their cave pining for the weather to change, no one to talk to except the passing fish. 

So Mick swam up to the bar, heaving themself onto a stool and smoothing the water out of their hair as they were slid a pint by the familiar barman, a stout, heavy-browed merman with thick dark hair all down his chest. Automatically, he plopped a newspaper down in front of Mick as well, taking their coins before turning back to _Porridge_ on the grainy television with a heavy sigh, as if that had been too much work for him. 

Mick echoed the sound, nursing their pint and flipping through the paper unenthusiastically. The pub had always been a rather lonely place for them, but now, it seemed like they constantly wanted to turn to someone who wasn’t there, just to talk about their day or how bad the beer was or to discuss an interesting article they just read. Irritated and more than a little frustrated by their loneliness, they thought of chucking their pint at the television, just for some attention and to hear another voice besides their own in their head. 

Just as Mick was about to give up, choke down the rest of their beer, and swim off, there was a splash beside them, another merperson coming up to the bar. Mick brightened at the sight of the familiar head of long dreadlocks and the green-tinted goggles, as their friend Don hauled out next to them, receiving a pint of his own for his troubles. 

“It's always weird to see you here,” Don told them by way of greeting. 

“Why?” Mick asked innocently. 

For his answer, Don wiped a finger along the bar, coming up with a blob of dark green algae that he grimaced at before flicking into the water with a slight plop. “Doesn’t seem to be your cup of tea.” 

Mick grinned and sipped their beer, reaching over to give Don a friendly touch on the forearm. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been going spare on my own.” 

Don regarded him suspiciously. “Why stay down here, then? Why don’t you go up and meet that fella of yours?” 

Mick glanced nervously at the bartender, glad he was too busy cleaning glasses and watching his program to pay them any mind. “Haven’t been able to lately,” he told Don sadly. “It’s been so cold, and it gets dark too early now, and we always have work.” 

“Maybe he can get you a warmer coat. And some gloves. And a torch, for when it gets dark. And-” 

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Mick held up a hand, flushing. “You probably won’t believe this, but I really _don’t_ want to have to ask him for anything. He’s already given me so much.” 

“The way you talk about him, he sounds like he’d give you his own two legs, if he could,” Don mused. His tone shifted to apologetic, and he gave Mick’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure he’s missing you just as bad as you’ve been missing him.” 

Mick sighed, knowing it was probably true. The thought of Joe missing them did make their stomach go warm, but it also hurt their heart, as it was only further evidence that they could never give Joe the full relationship he deserved. 

“I know, and I _do_ miss him,” Mick admitted bashfully. “But I've been thinking that... I don’t know if I should see him anymore. Maybe we should just let it all be a nice memory.” 

Don scoffed, but didn’t say anything, lifting his beer to his lips again. Mick knew he disapproved of their more cautious way of thinking, but _he_ wasn’t the one who was falling for a land person and dealing with the practical results of that. 

“Besides, I’m not sure I want it getting round that I’m seeing him,” Mick added firmly. “I already get funny looks, and they’ve only gotten worse. And I don’t want _him_ to get in trouble up _there_ , either.” 

Now, Don levelled a truly disappointed look at them. “That is _not_ the Mick I know,” he admonished. “The Mick I know would say, ‘Who gives a swimming fuck who I’m with?’ Remember, we’re not like landpeople, with all their rules about men being together, or women being together, or black people and white people being together. You should be proud of who you’re with, and who you are. That’s how us merfolk are.” 

Faced with that very valid and emphatic argument, Mick was sheepish that they ever felt such doubt. “You’re right. We’re not like them. That’s a good thing. For me, anyway.” They frowned, thinking of Joe. “But what if he gets flak from _his_ people? I can’t protect him up there, and he can’t come down here. I worry about him. Quite a lot, actually.” 

Don reached for their arm again. “Because you care for him so much. Christ, Mick, I’ve never seen you so tail over teakettle for someone like this. If you and him split, I’m afraid you’d probably just dry up.” 

“I can’t think about only myself, though, Don. I mean, we’ve already been attacked once.” 

Don frowned, remembering what Mick had told him about that incident. “Which was terrible, of course. But hopefully it was just a fluke. And besides, Joe can take care of himself. He’s smarter now. He cares too much to give up what you two have for a few idiots. Because that means they’ve won.” 

Mick nodded. “We just have to be careful, when we’re up there.” They shivered suddenly with want. “I'd give anything for him to be able to come down here and stay with me. They have hybrid hotels up there, why can’t they have something like that down here?” 

Don twisted his lips, unamused. “Do we really want them coming down here? Isn’t it bad enough they’re always screaming through on those speedboats? And stealing all our fish? And dumping plastic into the ocean, and drilling all over the place, and....” 

“Alright, alright,” Mick held up their hands. “Just some of them, then. The nice ones.” 

Don rolled his eyes as he took another sip of beer, but it was good-natured. “Speaking of the hotels…. Are you going to ask him? Isn’t it about time you two, _y'know_....” 

It was clear what Don was alluding to, and Mick’s face burned, their stomach clenching as they squirmed on their barstool. They had never told Don about their disinterest in spawning, that that was the reason they had been so unwilling to pursue most relationships. “No, it isn’t,” they began slowly, firmly, “because he knows I don’t want that, and he respects that.” 

Don looked incredulous. “Don’t _want_ that? How? You’re moony over him. And he's given you all these gifts. Are you just wanting to take it slow?” 

Mick shook their head. “He knows I’m not interested in him _that_ way, and that I don’t like to do that, full stop. I told him when we first met. Didn’t seem to put him off one bit.” Mick smiled at the memory. “In fact, that’s why I liked him so much at first. He accepted all that, as well as my gender. Just, everything about me that trips others up, he hasn’t batted an eye.” 

“Wow, Mick,” Don breathed. “I didn’t know all that.” He reached a hand out to cover one of Mick’s. “I accept those things about you, too. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, talking about spawning. It was a dumb joke, I’m sorry.” 

Mick waved him off, but appreciated Don’s understanding. “I should have told you. I should be more open about it. I realize now I don’t have anything to be ashamed of. That I can find someone who likes me for me, and I don't have to make compromises." 

“Cheers to that.” 

Don clinked his glass against Mick’s and they both drank, grinning at each other. Mick set theirs down and wrapped their hands around it, staring at it, deep in thought. 

“I think you should ask him," Don told him quietly. "You can talk about these worries you’re having, together." 

Mick snorted, feeling foolish. “I should apologize to him for even thinking this way. I’ve been an idiot.” 

Don shrugged. “Water is wet.” 

For that, Mick flicked some at him. They hoped they would be able to talk to Joe about everything as soon as they could. For now, though, they had some catching up to do with their friend, who was irritatingly so much smarter than they were. Even if it would be weeks before they could see Joe again, having a friend like Don around would make it seem like only tomorrow. 


	5. Tidepool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the beach, where there is uncertainty, reggae, and children's playgrounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this one. It's mostly pure fluff, with a hint of relationship angst. Please enjoy!

It would be early spring before Joe had the opportunity to return to the beach. Joe had used the seemingly interminable intervening days to fashion a new cart – out of more "borrowed" materials – and was eager to get Mick in it again. 

Topper and Paul had insisted on coming along. They were both quite eager to see Mick again, and Joe was pleased at that. He hoped that the four of them could all be friends, having gone through an interesting adventure and having so many ways to relate to each other. 

So Joe was not alone to enjoy the balmy, partly cloudy day, and he whistled as he practically skimmed over the grass. He trailed after Paul, who was pulling the new cart. Topper had insisted on riding inside; just to test it out, he had claimed. Paul gave him an exasperated look as he reached the deep sand and began to struggle with pulling. 

“C’mon, now,” Topper encouraged him, adding cheekily, “You’re a big, strong man, ain’t ya?” 

Paul rolled his eyes and offered Topper his hand to help him out of the cart. “Why should I have to? You’ve got two legs. Why don’t you use ‘em?” 

“Can’t I use them to jump on your back instead?” Topper pouted. 

Paul sighed but turned around anyway, and Topper wasted no time hopping up, his arms and legs wrapping around Paul like an octopus. He grinned broadly, before sneaking a kiss to Paul’s cheek that softened his otherwise irritated expression. 

It made Joe smile to watch the two of them, as he took up the cart’s handle and led the way to Mick’s usual spot. He hoped desperately that Mick would be there, but told himself that even if they weren’t, he would surely have a laugh with Topper and Paul anyway, on such a beautiful day on the beach. 

“I don’t see anybody,” Topper said sadly, as he scanned the beach from high up on Paul. “This _is_ your usual time, right?” 

Playing at being unbothered, Joe scoffed, but it didn’t reach his nervously churning stomach. “They’re always late, anyway,” he said, to soothe himself more than anything. “Besides, they have their own life. If they’re not here today, I can always try again some other time.” 

Dejected, Joe parked the cart next to the big, flat rock. He left it there, along with his ukulele, to go climb onto a taller rock formation nearby, wanting to be alone for a little while until it was clear that Mick was definitely not coming. 

Paul and Topper let him go, understanding. From his perch, Joe watched them amble down the beach hand in hand, their trousers turned up and their hair whipping in the breeze. He could hear them chatting and laughing, see them peering into tide pools and overturning rocks. They were a pleasant distraction from the anxiety roiling in his gut, and from the ache of disappointment as the prospect of going another age without seeing Mick loomed above him. 

“Oi! Joe! Down here, you idiot!” 

Joe’s eyes were torn away from Topper and Paul, his breath stopping as he quickly located the source of the disturbance below him. He must have failed to distinguish the splashing of Mick hauling out onto the beach from the rest of the waves, too wrapped up in his wallowing to pay attention to what was happening almost directly below him. 

Quickly yet carefully, Joe eased down from the craggy rock, his legs and arms shaking almost too much to let him safely dismount. With a gasp, he dropped the remaining few feet, landing in the sand with a soft thump, pausing to take Mick in, to make sure they were really there. 

They were, and they were lovely, smiling shyly at him as they lay in their side, propping themself up on their elbow while they toyed nervously with a lock of their hair. 

“I got your message in a bottle,” they joked. “Thought I’d come up and see if you remembered me for a change.” 

Joe broke into a grin and went to them, sitting respectfully on the edge of the rock. “Sorry I have to work for a living. We can’t all ride about on dolphins and run our hands through our hair and sing to fish all day long.” 

Mick laughed out loud, musical and bright. “Is that what you think I do?” 

“Well,” Joe drawled, leaning into them, “in between thinking about me, anyway.” 

Mick flushed prettily at that, and sat up so they could pull themself closer to Joe. They wrapped an arm around his body and dragged him over, giggling softly when he went pathetically easily into their lap. They stroked his hair as he looked up at them, wrapping his arms around their middle, enjoying their comforting warmth. 

“Missed you,” they said, drawing their fingers over his cheek, brushing down to his neck, where gills would be. 

Joe let out a breath of a laugh. “You have no idea.” To show them how much he meant it, he hugged them tight, burying his face in their side and breathing in their salt and seaweed scent. 

“Aww, poor thing,” Mick cooed, laughing. Their hand skimmed down to his waist, squeezing at him briefly in a way that made him go warm and soft. He could have fallen asleep there, lying back however awkwardly, as long as he could feel Mick’s hands on him, in his hair and stroking over his stomach. 

Too soon, though, Mick’s fingers began to dance mischievously, tickling at his ribs even as they continued to stroke him. “Now, get off me, you great lump. There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.” 

Joe grumbled like a child made to get out of bed early, rising back to a sitting position with mussed hair and bleary eyes. He resented the way the cool breeze on his back quickly replaced the warmth from Mick’s body, but curiosity soon won him over. He shook off the last of the lingering coziness from cuddling with Mick, and watched the waves, where Mick was gesturing for someone to come ashore. 

Joe’s eyes widened as a merman popped his head up from the water and began pulling himself through the surf. He had brown skin and dreadlocks nearly to the beginning of his tail, where his deep red scales shone just as mesmerizing as Mick’s. Around his neck he wore a pair of green goggles and a tarnished gold chain necklace, and he had a few bracelets on each arm; nowhere near the amount of ornamentation Mick boasted, but still more than an average landperson. Joe hoped he hadn’t noticed him staring, but fortunately, he seemed too intent on giving Mick an annoyed look to pay much attention to Joe. 

“Finished having your little cuddle?” He smirked as he shook some excess water from his hair, perching his goggles atop his head before lounging lazily next to Mick’s tail. 

Choosing to ignore his teasing, Mick blushed lightly as they gestured from Joe to the strange merman. “Joe, this is Don. Don, you know who this is.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” he snorted, after briefly shaking hands with Joe. “So you’re the little landboy Mick won’t shut up about?” 

Joe grinned, ducking his head guiltily. “Unless they’ve been singing with some other geezer up the coast.” 

“Nah,” Don said confidently. “They dropped all the others as soon as they realized you were a steady ganja supply.” 

Joe and Don shared a grin at that, even as Mick blushed and flicked their tail. Just before they could retort, though, the sounds of feet shuffling through sand interrupted them, and Joe turned to see Topper and Paul returning to the rock. They approached cautiously, keeping their hands to themselves and stopping a few paces from the rock for Don to size them up. 

“Who’re you, then?” Don asked, unafraid and understandably standoffish. 

Joe grinned to himself, happy to know that Mick kept company with merpeople who were just as brave as they were. They rested a calming hand on Don’s arm, putting him somewhat at ease. 

“Don, this is Topper and Paul. They helped Joe and me when we got stranded, remember me telling you about that?” 

Don relaxed, nodding and tilting his head for Paul and Topper to approach. “Join us, then, if there’s room,” he invited. His voice lowered, wryly saying to Mick, “Should’ve brought Chrissie along. Even things up a bit.” 

Joe wished he could’ve met every merperson Mick knew, but for now, he was happy enough to get to know Don. Paul and Topper seemed that way too, looking curiously at both him and Mick. 

“So,” Topper began, “are you into music, too, like Mick is?” 

Don gave a shrug. “Yeah, we play together sometimes. It’s not my main thing, like it is for them. I’m a filmmaker by trade, do a bit of DJ’ing, take a few pictures here and there.” 

“Renaissance merman, he is,” Mick chipped in. 

“What about you lot?” Don returned with a wave in Topper and Paul’s direction. 

“I play drums,” Topper said brightly. “This one here is hopeless, though.” 

Paul pretended to look wounded as he gave Topper a light push. “I’m an avid _listener_ ,” he defended himself. 

“Oh yeah, what of?” Mick asked. 

“Reggae, mostly.” 

That seemed to brighten Don up. “Reggae’s my thing as well.” 

“Yeah? Cool,” Paul said, pleased, though still a bit shy at having the attention on him. 

“I think that’s something we can all agree on, definitely,” Topper put in. 

They continued chatting about music, Don asking Paul if he was familiar with this or that reggae performer, while Topper chimed in with his soul and jazz favorites. While the three of them chatted, Joe leant in to Mick slightly, nudging at them with his shoulder to receive a blushing smile. Suddenly, Joe wished they could be alone together; as much as he enjoyed the company of all their friends, Joe didn’t want to lose any more precious time with Mick after having gone so long without it. 

Waiting for a slight lull in the conversation to suggest sneaking off, Joe quietly slipped his hand into Mick’s, resting his cheek on their shoulder and flushing slightly when Topper noticed with a smirk. 

“Go on, you two,” he said, shooing them off. “We’re spoiling their alone time, aren’t we?” 

Joe knew he was tomato-red, but he didn’t care, wasting no time fetching the cart for Mick. “Well, if you insist,” he drawled, positioning it for Mick to get in with his help. He filled the bucket and gave it to Mick along with a sponge. “We won’t go far, so you won’t need too much water, right?” 

“Right.” Mick looked somewhat relieved to hear that. After their last adventure on land, Joe knew it would still be some time before they were ready to venture much further than the beach. “Where can we go that’s nearby?” 

Joe shrugged, then looked sidelong at the three pairs of eyes following them. “Somewhere these vultures won’t be circling,” he intoned. 

Topper chucked a pebble at him, but they were able to make a clean escape, Joe hauling Mick through the deep sand to the firmer grass. He really had no mind to where exactly he would go, but as long as Mick was with him, and trusted him to take care of them, a simple stroll by the seaside was more than enough. 

Soon, Joe was comfortable enough with pulling – Mick once again helping him, this time with a shovel Joe had brought along – that he found his thoughts wandering to Don, helplessly curious. “So, your friend, he seems awfully... astute," he said, wincing at his own awkwardness as he pulled the cart up to a park bench so he could sit and talk to Mick. 

Mick was watching him intently. “He is. He’s helped me out a lot.” 

“Do you talk with him... about us?” Joe asked, carefully tiptoeing around his words. Deciding that Mick deserved to know more, he added hastily, “I’m only asking because, well... Topper and Paul sort of had to help me with some things. I spoke to them about us, about some worries I was having.” 

It looked as if it was completely expected for Mick, who nodded and looked down at the shovel in their hands, beginning to pick at it. “I was having worries too.” 

“It’s only natural. I mean, we didn’t exactly have the red carpet rolled out for us, did we?” 

Mick gave a lopsided grin. “No, we didn’t. But Joe, the thing is, I don’t think I care. Don doesn’t think I should care. We both agree, I shouldn’t have to lose out on happiness because of what people think.” 

“That’s the conclusion Topper and Paul helped me reach as well,” Joe agreed. 

“Really?” Mick said, breathless. 

“Really. I was just worried because I care about you, and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me….” 

“Joe, if anything happened, it wouldn’t be because of _you_. Don’t give yourself all the credit for acting like a fool.” 

Mick’s grin was wry, as they looked up at Joe. He grinned back, but it fell as Mick’s eyes widened, looking in shock at something behind Joe. 

Joe’s heart raced as he turned, ready to scarper if more hateful goons were headed their way. To his confusion, though, there was nothing but a playground, empty apart from a few birds perched on the seesaws. When he turned back, Mick was pointing at it, their expression delighted and surprised. 

“I’ve only seen those on telly,” they told Joe excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to try.” 

“What, swings?” 

Mick nodded, gesturing at him to get going again. Joe laughed to himself and obeyed, dragging Mick to the swing set. 

“Help me in,” they urged, already grabbing at the chains. 

With all the strength he could manage, Joe lifted their tail while they pulled themself into the swing. Quickly, Joe pushed the cart out of the way, laughing when he saw Mick clinging to the swing for dear life, looking confused and slightly terrified. 

“How do I make it move?” 

"I can give you a push," Joe took his place behind them, his hands on either side of their waist. “Are you ready?” 

“I’m ready.” 

Joe pushed down and forward, careful not to shove them out of the swing and into the pea gravel below them. Mick did slide around in the swing a little at first, but quickly found their balance, though they were still quite stiff and tense with uncertainty. 

“You have to keep it going by leaning back and then tucking your tail under you," Joe explained. "Here, watch me.” 

Joe plopped into the neighboring swing and started it moving from a standstill. He grinned as Mick watched him, their mouth opening in awe. 

“You didn’t need a push!” they accused. “How…?” 

“Like this.” Joe stopped himself by digging his heels into the ground and restarted, slower this time so Mick could catch on. Soon, they were rocking back and forth, their tail flicking out and back in again as they made modest arcs through the air. 

Joe, meanwhile, was picking up speed and height, just showing off for Mick now. “When you’re ready to stop, just stop moving your tail,” he called to them. “You’ll slow down eventually.” Even with the instructions, though, he was worried about them getting too high, so he slowed to a complete stop quickly, ready to leap up and help them if they needed it. When they seemed to be doing alright, he turned in his swing so he was straddling it, leaning back against the chain to watch them. 

Evidently deciding they had had enough, Mick took Joe’s advice, stilling their tail to slow the swing. They still had a good deal of momentum left, though, and they gripped at the chains with white knuckles as they rocked to a full stop, waiting until they were perfectly still to clutch at their stomach and groan. 

“Eurgh, is it supposed to feel like that?” 

“All swoopy, like you’re falling?” 

“Yeah. That’s terrible!” 

Joe couldn’t help laughing, his own stomach going warm at how they looked. _Adorable_ was the only way he could describe it, with their eyebrows knitted together and their hand on their belly, their hair a frizzy cloud around them as they looked to Joe, flushed with exertion and amazement. 

“I think that is how it’s supposed to feel, yes,” he told them, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his swing’s chain. 

“I liked it better when you pushed me,” Mick admitted softly, mimicking Joe by hanging on to their chain as well. 

Joe huffed, his hair lifting off his forehead. “I supposed I’m used to doing things for you by now,” he mock-grumbled as he stood. 

“Just a little, if you please,” Mick instructed him genially, as he placed his hands on their back and gave them a few small pushes to get them going again. Joe was happy to do it for them, pushing them occasionally as they gained more confidence in their swinging. Eventually, Joe was able to leave them to it, returning to his swing to watch them, leaning back against the chain and folding his arms over his chest. 

“Just let me know when the novelty wears off,” he said, good-naturedly. If he was honest with himself, he would have been happy to watch them all day, the way their hair trailed behind them on the forward swing and their tail fluttered in the breeze on the back. 

“This is quite drying,” Mick admitted, slowing themself slightly. “My hair’s gone all poofy, hasn’t it?” 

“From a princess to a poodle,” Joe joked, as Mick came to a halt. To apologize, he disentangled from his swing again, walking to the cart to fetch the sponge and the bucket. “Here, let me help with you with the end, yeah?” 

“Ta.” Mick felt warm even through the sponge as Joe went to his knees in the gravel to give a brief wet-down to the lower half of their tail, that was difficult for them to reach while sitting in the swing. After returning those scales to their glistening glory, he let Mick take over, daubing gingerly at the upper part of their tail and their gills while Joe sat back and waited. When they were finished, Joe replaced the bucket in the cart and went back to his swing, expecting to see them looking relaxed and content still. To his dismay, they seemed nervous, clutching at their chain and flicking their tail fin anxiously. 

.

“Erm, can I ask you something?” 

Joe settled back in the swing, attempting an air of nonchalance to help put them at ease. “Anything.” 

Mick bit their lip and scrunched up next to the chain. “There was something else Don gave me his blessing to do. You know about those hotels, where merpeople can stay if they have to be on land for a while?” 

Joe nodded, thoughtful. “Right, Topper was telling me about the one that’s not far from here, actually. They’ve got, like, pools for them to stay in.” 

“They also have rooms that have beds _and_ tanks, for landpeople and merpeople to stay in together.” They took in a shaky breath, looking down at the ground as they continued, “And I was wondering if, maybe, you’d like to stay with me in one of those rooms, for a night.” 

“Oh.” Joe immediately felt idiotic for not being able to come up with anything more eloquent, but his brain had seemed to collapse in on itself at Mick’s proposal. _He_ knew, and he knew that _Mick_ knew what such a suggestion usually meant, so the fact that they felt safe enough with Joe to want to do something like that with him, trusted Joe to have no expectations on them…. Joe was astounded, flattered, and gobsmacked all at once. 

Unfortunately, Mick mistook his stunned silence for disinterest. “Sorry, I know…. It is a big move. And it’s probably awfully expensive, but I’ve been putting back, too, so you would probably only have to chip in a little, if at all, and I just thought, after all you’ve done for me….” 

Joe reeled, desperate for an opening to tell them that all their worries were for nothing. “Mick, no, that’s not it. I’d love too. Sorry, I was just in shock….” 

“You would?” Mick looked sweetly hopeful, their thumb going to their mouth to chew on their fingernail. “But… why is it shocking?” 

“Not shocking,” Joe waved off. “A bit surprising, though. In a good way. This means you’d like to spend more time with me. On land. Right?” At Mick’s nod, he was now the shy one. “And it means that you trust me, which is really good also. That… makes me feel really great, actually.” 

He let out a nervous breath with the admission, glad to see his own shaky, relieved smile was reflected on Mick’s pink-tinged face. 

“So, next time we meet, can we go?” 

“I’ll make a reservation,” Joe said, leaning in to clink their chains together, like a toast. 

Relief seemed to flood Mick, their shoulders sinking and their arms relaxing, holding onto their swing loosely. “I can’t wait,” they said, truthful and shyly excited. “Only, this time, can Paul and Topper go with, just to drop us off and take us back?” 

“Of course.” Joe looked up at the sky, seeing how the sun was beginning to sink in the west. “We should be getting back to them soon, huh?” 

Mick agreed with a low hum. Joe knew by now that being on land took a toll on them, even when they were staying hydrated and out of the direct sunlight. He was able to help them back in their cart, noting how limp they seemed, both from being out in the air and from opening up to Joe the way they had. 

The breeze was at Joe’s back as he pulled up to the big rock again, pleased to hear light, lilting music coming from where Don and Topper and Paul were still sitting together. Topper had picked up Joe’s ukulele and was picking out a relaxed reggae tune, while he and Don sang low and lazily, and Paul simply stretched out and watched them, his hands occasionally slapping his stomach to the beat. 

They didn’t stop the song as Mick and Joe approached, but they welcomed them back with plenty of smiles and pats and – mostly from Topper – a few sly, suggestive looks. 

“You two work things out?” Don asked cheerfully, finally taking a break from singing. 

Joe scoffed as he took his ukulele back from Topper. “There was nothing _to_ work out,” he said, playing offended. “We’re the same model relationship as ever.” 

He winked at Mick as they were sponging themself down again, rolling their eyes at him. Absently, he began plucking out a lovers rock he knew, though he was still too shy to sing it out loud. 

Don picked up on it, though, murmuring “ _Truly. I love you truly. And it would mean so much to me_ ….” 

Joe’s heart leapt when Topper picked out a couple of hand-sized rocks to click against the big one with, and Mick followed along on their harmonica. Even when the song ended there was still music in the air between the five of them, and it was much too early to go home now. 

“Next time we should bring wood for a fire,” Topper suggested to the group as the sun just touched the waves, its low light bathing the beach in orange and pink. 

They all agreed, and that was enough prompting for Joe to launch into “Israelites” – a popular choice that left them all singing at the top of their lungs. They had nearly as much fun with “Sweet and Dandy” and “Police and Thieves,” though the latter had to be reworked drastically when it was discovered that not one of them could hit the high notes from the original. Despite that setback, their impromptu beach band was a rousing success, if the gulls were the ones asked, especially when Topper ran and found Paul an empty beer bottle to blow into like a jug to provide some low accompaniment. 

Through it all, Joe sat next to Mick, occasionally leaning against them, sometimes with their arms wrapped around him when they weren’t playing their harmonica. Joe knew they were growing sleepy when all they could manage of “Tighten Up” was a mumbling against Joe’s shoulder, so he handed his ukulele off to Don as soon as the song ended and let Mick rest in his lap, his fingers idly smoothing over their hair, tucking it behind their ear. 

“You can turn in, you know,” he said kindly down to them, low so the others couldn’t hear. Don had begun strumming “Island in the Sun,” singing it with as much of the sweetness of the original as he could muster, relaxing both Joe and Mick until they were nearly ready to slide into the ocean together. 

“Wanna stay with you,” Mick mumbled sleepily. They opened their eyes and immediately blushed when they saw Joe watching them, but it didn’t stop them sitting up so they could push Joe back, getting him to lie down with barely a touch. 

“Come ‘ere,” Joe murmured, his own eyes beginning to close. He knew there was no way he’d actually be able to fall asleep on the hard rock, but he would put up with any discomfort to get to hold Mick for just a little while longer. He shivered pleasantly when they settled with their head on his chest, their hair tickling him all over. They sighed as they stroked at his belly absently, and Joe could feel them beginning to sing along to whatever slow song was playing so far away. Their voice was high and quiet and content, lifting above the surf and settling in that lovely space right under the clouds, where they and Joe and all their friends had made their peaceful room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack for this chapter:
> 
> "Truly" - Marcia Griffiths  
> "Israelites" - Desmond Dekker & the Aces  
> "Sweet and Dandy" - Toots & the Maytals  
> "Police and Thieves" - Junior Murvin  
> "Tighten Up" - Lee "Scratch" Perry  
> "Island in the Sun" - Harry Belafonte (or the Paragons' version)


	6. Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick and Joe share a night together in their own way, learning and experiencing new things with each other.
> 
> Attention: There is a bit more ace-related insecurity from Mick in this chapter, as well as a touch of body image issues from both Joe and Mick. They also get a little more physically/romantically intimate in this one, nothing sexual, of course, but still. Please let me know if I've missed anything I should warn for.

Joe took a breath before opening the door. After he and Mick had spent the day with Paul and Topper, eating and chatting and shopping and even having another go on some swings at a park nearby, Joe was ready for the main event; the night he would spend with Mick, alone, in a quiet room where no one could bother them. But now that it was becoming a reality, Joe felt jittery and overwarm, with both anticipation for all the good things to come, and fear that he would muck it up somehow. 

But Mick was smiling reassuringly as they took in the room, modest by the hotel’s standards but otherworldly to Joe. One half looked like an ordinary hotel room, with a bed and a lamp and a small bathroom and closet. The other half, though, was taken over by an enormous aquarium, the size of a small room itself, ringed with tile flooring at the base. It was about six feet tall, leaving a few feet of clearance from the ceiling for getting in and out, with both a ladder and a chairlift provided for doing so. Inside, the tank was furnished with thin sand substrate and a large cave that took up about a third of it, made out of resin and painted to look like coral. A few clumps of false seaweed completed the sparse décor, swaying gently in the current of the big filter that hummed away in the corner of the tank. 

“What do you think?” Joe whispered into the quiet of the room after softly closing the door. 

Mick was looking up at the tank with a mixture of awe and amusement. “I think you’ve accidentally put me up in a pet shop display,” they deadpanned. 

Joe chuckled, feeling his cheeks heat, but also a great surge of relief to hear them joking about it. “Was this a bad idea?” 

“No, Joe,” Mick said gently. “I think it’s lovely, really. I’m just amazed you actually did it.” 

“It was no trouble,” Joe insisted. “Besides, even if it was, you wanted it. And so did I.” 

Mick tipped their head back to meet Joe’s eyes, blushing happily. “I really love it, actually.” 

Joe beamed down at them. “Ready to get in?” he asked, pointing at the chairlift. 

“Let’s do it,” Mick said with a confident nod. Happily, Joe pulled them over to it, helping Mick haul themself into the chair. 

“Elevator, goooing up,” he couldn’t resist saying as he pushed the button, earning a groan and an eye roll from Mick. When the chair started up with a jerk and a metallic whine, they gripped the armrests tightly, and Joe had to stifle a giggle at the startled look in their eyes. 

“Maybe it _was_ a bad idea,” Mick moaned as they were lifted into the air. “I don’t think my kind were ever meant to be this high up.” 

“You’re almost there,” Joe assured them, and sure enough, Mick soon safely reached the top, where they could swivel around and glide gracefully into the water. 

To see Mick in an approximation of their natural habitat for the first time had Joe utterly entranced. He watched, in awe, as they let themself slowly sink to the bottom of the tank, before shooting back to the surface with one smooth, barely-there flick of the tail. They broke through taking a gasp of air, but Joe saw that their gills were working too, flapping slowly to move water in and out. 

“Well, how is it?” Joe asked eagerly, trying not to gawk. 

“It’s a bit chilly,” Mick said, wrapping their arms around themself, treading water with their tail. “Hasn’t this thing got a heater?” 

“It should,” Joe mused, searching for one and finally spotting it towards the top, near where the glass met the wall. “Over there.” 

Mick set it to what they wanted, then swam back to the top. Joe didn’t think he would ever get tired of seeing Mick so comfortable moving about in the water, an incredible contrast to their relative sluggishness on land. In the tank, everything about them seemed to make sense, from the way their hair swayed smoothly in the current, to their gills, to their tail, and all the way down to their fins. They even seemed to shine more spectacularly, their scales shimmering in the light, every tiny movement making them dance with life. 

“Told you I was better underwater,” Mick said, giving their tail a showy little flick knowing full well they were being watched.

Joe blushed, caught staring. “I like you just as well out of it. But, this _is_ rather nice to see.” 

“Thank you,” Mick said, quiet and sincere. They were hanging off the lip of the tank now, looking down at Joe from about a foot above him. They averted their eyes shyly, and Joe noticed a blush rising on their cheeks and chest. “Would you like to come in?” 

Joe started. Part of him wanted to tear his clothes off and jump in right then, but part of him held back, wanting to know if Mick was sure they wanted to see him like that. In the water next to Mick, he would probably look like a scrawny drowned rat, hardly the beautiful aquatic creature that Mick was. 

“I dunno,” he hemmed, a matching blush on his own face. “You might be disappointed. I ain’t exactly Charles Atlas under here,” he explained, gesturing at his clothes. 

Mick bit their lip. “Well, neither am I. I mean, if you’re impressed with me, you should see most of the other merpeople I know. I’m just a skinny little mixed-up weirdo, really.” 

Their tone was light, and though Joe felt a bit better about himself, he bristled at Mick’s dismissal of their own looks and body. “Maybe we can agree to disagree about that.” 

“Agreed. Now, get in already,” Mick pleaded impatiently. “It’s warming up quite nicely.” 

Joe almost groaned out loud at the idea, imagining himself already swimming alongside Mick in the warm water. “Fine. Let me get changed.” 

Mick was hardly listening, going to do a turn in the water, splashing onto the tile with their tail as they flipped around in a circle. Joe grinned, reminded of a goldfish excited to see their owner during feeding time. Quickly, so quickly he was stumbling over his own clothes, he finally wrangled some trunks on, and clambered up the ladder, hesitating at the top to test the temperature with his hand. It was indeed wonderfully warm, and it didn’t take much self-persuasion to climb over the top and slip into it fully, trying to ignore how awkward he felt to be wearing what amounted to pants in such close quarters with a cavorting, giggling Mick. 

“You can touch bottom, that’s a good thing,” Mick told him brightly, keeping their distance to let Joe get comfortable. 

“Yeah.” Luckily, though the tank was six feet tall, the water came up at least a foot short of that, and Joe could easily stand with his head above the surface, his toes wiggling in the soft sand and small waves gently lapping at his shoulders. He looked around the tank, wondering how Mick had room to swim at all. “Bit cramped, innit?” 

“It’s alright,” Mick shrugged, looking genuinely unbothered by the size of the tank. “Look, I can stand like you,” they said, bracing their fins against the bottom and just barely treading water to keep straight upright. “I’m taller than you,” they added, before slipping in the sand, needing to clutch onto Joe to keep from going under. 

Joe smiled, beginning to forget his self-consciousness. Mick seemed comfortable being held by him, too, and Joe enjoyed being eye to eye with them in his arms. In fact, it reminded him of something, and he had to reluctantly pull away, keeping his hands on Mick’s arms as they gave him a slightly wounded look. 

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” 

To Mick’s confusion, Joe clambered as quickly as he could out of the tank, swiftly toweling down his legs so he wouldn’t drip all over the carpet. Mick was watching him, their arms folded on the lip of the tank, chin resting on their hands, while he went to the radio by the bed and switched it on. The music itself didn’t matter much, so Joe simply settled for the easygoing pop of the station it was already set to, hastily getting back in the water as Olivia Newton-John's light, airy voice filled the room. 

“What’s that for?” 

Joe blushed as he reached for Mick’s hand. “I want to try something. You know about dancing, right?” 

Mick ducked their head, looking like they couldn’t keep themself from grinning hugely. “Of course I do,” they replied, almost giddily as they placed their hand in Joe’s and let him pull them in closer. “I’ve never done it before. Not the way landfolks do, anyway.” 

“Would you like to try, with me?” 

“Very much.” Mick was still grinning, still blushing sweetly, and Joe stepped closer, taking their other hand and guiding it to his shoulder. 

The song was fairly slow, enough for them to simply sway together, going around and around in the confines of the tank. It was a little awkward at first, Mick having to train their tail to move a certain way, and Joe having to push through the water, feeling as heavy and clumsy as he reckoned Mick did on land. By the end of the song, though, the two of them had found a rhythm with each other, Joe supporting Mick’s waist as he took the lead, guiding them gracefully through the water for the next song and the next. 

Joe couldn’t keep from smiling as he watched Mick begin to feel the music, eventually letting go of him to swim around him in a circle, twirling as they twined around his body. Their scales pressed into his bare skin, warm and smooth, and Joe reached out to touch, thrilling when Mick came closer, settling in his arms with their arms encircling his neck and their tail curled around his legs. 

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” they confessed, as Joe continued to dance slowly through the water, carrying them along. “I love dancing, but for merpeople, it’s different.” They blushed, relaxing their hold on Joe slightly. “It’s really only a spawning thing for us. That’s what it’s meant to lead to, anyway.” 

“Oh.” Joe went still, feeling suddenly awkward. “It’s not like that with landpeople, not necessarily. I mean, it _can_ be, but... _this_ isn’t. You’re not... worried about that, are you?” 

They shook their head. “With anyone else I might be, but... it’s you. I know you wouldn’t.... Even though you probably deserve to, by now.” 

“What do you mean, _deserve_?” Joe asked cautiously, a pit in his stomach telling him he likely already knew the answer. 

Mick went a deeper shade of red. “I know you’re patient, and you know how I am, but... I still can’t help waiting for you to decide you’ve had enough. I know you would never hurt me, but you might... you might get tired of me.” 

Their voice trailed off into a whisper, and Joe longed to pull them in close, though that didn't seem to be what they needed at the moment. “Mick, that’s _not_ going to happen. I promise.” 

To his relief, Mick seemed to believe him, as they bit their lip and didn’t press that particular matter any further. Instead, they changed the subject, asking Joe, “Remember how I wasn’t sure if I was ready to kiss you before?” 

Joe nodded quickly, wondering if Mick could feel him tingling with anticipation, trying to tamp it down. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he reiterated, but Mick was shaking their head. 

“At first, I didn’t want to because I was worried, that you might think kissing you meant I wanted to go further, that you might expect something I could never give you. Of course, you’ve proven me spectacularly wrong on that front,” they said with a faint smile, before continuing, more soberly, “But now, I’m worried that if I kiss you, I’ll… want to kiss you all the time.” 

Joe wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or offended. “And why would that be such a bad thing?” 

Mick smiled, though they were on the verge of tears. “Because kissing you will make it real, and making it real will make it impossible. Because you’re you, and I’m me. Look at us. We’re dancing to the Bee Gees in a fucking fish tank. What if this is the only way we can be together?” 

“Rubbish,” Joe spluttered out, shocked that Mick would think that. “We can be together no matter where we are. Besides,” he added, feigning offense, “I think the Bee Gees are brilliant.” 

Mick couldn’t hold back a laugh at that, wiping at their eyes with the heel of their hand. “So, I take it that means you still want to try?” 

Joe rolled his eyes, then gave Mick a small squeeze. “I would give you a castle if I could. But even if we end up _living_ in a fucking fish tank, I would want to try it with you, of _course_.” 

“As a princess, I do deserve a castle,” they murmured, before smiling up at Joe, shy yet pleased. Slowly, they moved in to brush their nose against Joe’s, and then they were kissing him, like they couldn’t resist it anymore. It was a little clumsy and nervous, impossibly soft, and Joe knew he wasn’t helping matters any by grinning so much. Carefully, he took Mick’s face in his hands, and concentrated on kissing them back properly, feeling them settle under his touch. They were left breathless when Joe pulled back, and he smoothed his hands over their hair, hoping their lack of air was of the good sort. 

“Alright?" 

The grateful, shy look on Mick’s face as they nodded was simultaneously heartwarming and heart-wrenching, and right there, Joe made it his mission to see to it that they were unafraid to kiss him - or not to kiss him - whenever they pleased. 

“Whatever you want, okay? Always.” 

“I just want to keep doing this, for now,” they said softly, as the two of them began to sway to the music together again, Joe slipping his arms around Mick’s waist. Mick had their hands on Joe’s shoulders, their arms folded up against Joe’s chest, and their forehead pressed to Joe’s, their eyes closed in peace. 

Joe was somewhat glad they couldn’t see him, because he must have looked a complete fool the way he was grinning, so happy that Mick was so content with him. Knowing what they had been through, how certain things made them uncomfortable, and how merpeople were treated in general, Joe was glad to be there for Mick, even if he suspected they hardly needed him. He felt a warmth all over when he could hear and feel Mick sigh happily, before they nuzzled their face in his neck and held onto him a little tighter. 

“Thank you, Joe,” they breathed, voice sweet and sincere. “This has been perfect, really.” 

Joe’s smile only grew, and a small, breathy laugh bubbled out of him as Mick pulled back slightly to look at him, wearing a shy, but effervescent grin of their own. 

“What are you so happy about?” they asked, though it was likely they already knew. 

“I just really love this,” he told them as he rubbed gently up and down their arms. “I could stay in here for hours, but, well….” He trailed off, not wanting to let on that he wouldn't be able to keep to that promise. 

“Getting pruney?” Mick supplied. “Sleepy? Needing the bog?” 

Joe pretended to consider the options seriously. “How about two out of three?” 

Mick smiled, looking down as they took one of Joe’s hands in their own. Their thumb rubbed over all the little ridges forming on his fingertips, and they snorted. 

“Pathetic. I can stay out _there_ longer than you can stay in here.” 

Joe scoffed in return. “At least I won’t dry up like a raisin if I’m in the sun too long.” 

“Don’t _make_ me hold you under,” Mick shot back. 

“Oh yeah? I’ll just tickle you, then.” His free hand moved to Mick’s lateral line, but they slipped away, diving underwater with a tiny yelp and an even tinier blip of a splash. 

The next thing Joe felt was hands on his legs, tugging at him gently, asking him to sink below. He took a deep breath and obeyed, falling until his knees hit the sand at the bottom of the tank. He opened his eyes under the water to see Mick face to face with him, grinning broadly. They swam around Joe in a circle, quick and sinuous and seemingly effortlessly elegant. Joe found it impossible to resist reaching out and touching them, feeling their smooth scales slip under his fingers and their long hair brush past his upper body. 

Mick was blushing when they returned to facing Joe, grinning shyly. They were pressed close, and Joe’s heart beat faster, until Mick’s hands came up to his neck and they were kissing him sweetly, with more sureness and steadiness than the first time. They pulled back with a lovely pink flush, and Joe touched them in return, carefully avoiding their gills by placing his hands a little higher, cupping their jaw and sliding his fingers through their hair. Mick seemed to enjoy the touch, wriggling happily and closing their eyes, leaning in to press their forehead to Joe’s again. 

It was then that Joe’s lungs began to protest in earnest, his body rapidly nearing its limit. He had to break free from Mick to push himself back to the surface, where they joined him, both gasping and holding onto each other, Joe leaning heavily against the side of the tank. 

Mick was smirking as Joe caught his breath and scraped water out of his hair so it would stop dripping into his eyes. “How’d you like my world, then?” 

“Honestly? I loved it.” Joe grinned breathlessly as Mick’s face reddened again, looking pleased with themself. “Next time, though, I’d like some scuba gear. Even things up a bit.” 

“Right, of course,” Mick laughed. Then, as if they were afraid to keep him, they pulled back from where they were wrapped around his middle, going to tread water in the middle of the tank. “You’re probably tired, not to mention sick of being all wet,” they mumbled into the water, sinking low so it lapped at their chin. 

Joe had to agree, feeling himself deflate, as if Mick had given him permission to be exhausted. “I should get out of here, before I sprout webbed fingers, too.” 

“I wish we could sleep together,” Mick blurted suddenly. Immediately after, their face went scarlet, and they waved it away with a casual hand. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” Joe assured them, smiling sadly. “I wish we could too.” He made his way to the ladder, his heart as heavy as the rest of him as he heaved himself out of the water. As he toweled dry, he looked back at Mick, who had already sunk to the bottom of the tank, curled up dejectedly with their back to the glass, one arm around their tail as their other hand sifted through the sand. 

Joe had to do something. Thinking it over, he decided to dry the tiled floor next to the tank as best he could with another towel. He went to the bed and tugged at the mattress, pleased when he found he could pull it relatively easily off the bed and drag it across the floor until it was flush with the tank. 

Seeing that Mick was still turned away from him, Joe rapped his knuckles on the tank to get their attention. They turned around hopefully, then saw the bed next to the tank and swam immediately to the top, grinning happily as they burst from the water with a small splash. 

“Joe, what are you doing?” 

“Oi, watch it with the water,” Joe admonished. “What's it look like I’m doing?” 

Mick grinned even bigger, then dove back down again to peek into the cave that served as the bed for the tank. They pulled out a thin blanket that looked like it was made out of the same stuff as the false seaweed décor, and went to lie down with it at the side of the tank, facing the wall, wriggling into the sand to get comfortable. 

Joe, wrapped up in his own blanket, mirrored Mick, smiling as he pressed his hand to the cool, smooth tank and they pressed back. He might have been imagining it, but he could feel their warmth through the thick glass, their soft, gentle hand in his. He would have loved to be able to talk to them all night until they both drifted off, but he had to settle for a mouthed _good night_ , to which they responded in kind, smiling and blushing as they curled up with their blanket. More than content just knowing they were happy and felt safe, Joe let himself slip away, dreaming of underwater scenes and dancing in the starlight, gliding along with Mick at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple chapters left, folks! I've appreciated so much all those who have read/kudosed/commented! I hope you liked this chapter just as much as the others, it was my absolute favorite to imagine and write. If you did, let me know, I've really enjoyed chatting to you all about this silly little AU of mine.
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter:
> 
> "Magic" - Olivia Newton-John  
> "Yes I'm Ready" - Teri DeSario and KC  
> "Together We Are Beautiful" - Fern Kinney  
> "How Deep Is Your Love" - The Bee Gees  
> "Never Knew Love Like This Before" - Stephanie Mills


End file.
